


harlequinade

by Jothowrote



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF sorcerer Hamid, Gen, M/M, Meritocrats are bad, Minor Bertie/Oscar, Minor Tjelvar/Edward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 52,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21749080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jothowrote/pseuds/Jothowrote
Summary: Hamid, a member of one of the exalted meritocratic families, works against the meritocrats by aiding and abetting harlequins. Wilde gives him the job of breaking two harlequins out of jail.An AU where Zolf and Sasha follow their families into the harlequins, Hamid knows of his heritage, and the meritocrats might just be one big conspiracy.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Zolf Smith
Comments: 50
Kudos: 170





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my nano this november - it's around 50 000 words and all written, needing just a few touch-ups here and there, so it should all be out in short order. Basically I just wanted to write two characters, who should be enemies, falling in love. If they can stop arguing for a second or two. It will probably go to around 5 chapters.

Hamid found the note in his pockets of his coat when he got to his family’s house in Cairo, scrawled in Wilde’s usual curling script. He read it through three times, committed it to memory as best he could, and then burnt it to embers with a snap of his fingers.

Just as the last sparks faded into the air his sister’s voice called from the nearby office.

‘Hamid? Is that you?’

‘Yes, Saira?’

Hamid took a breath, arranged his cloak, and went to peer around the office door.

‘You called?’

Saira looked up at him, squinting over thin wire-rimmed spectacles, a quill in one hand and a sheaf of paper in the other. Ink stained her fingers dark.

‘Why are you back at the house?’ she asked. ‘I thought you were staying in London.’

‘Oh, I am,’ Hamid said quickly, entering the room proper and closing the door behind him. ‘Just popped home for a quick visit, nothing important.’

Saira frowned, suddenly.

‘You’ve not come back to ask for more money, have you?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘Your accounts were looking pretty healthy the last time I checked, and you shouldn’t be spending outside of your means-‘

‘No, no!’ Hamid said hurriedly, holding up his hands. ‘Not at all, Saira! No, just home for a quick visit.’

‘Ok,’ Saira said, though she still looked suspicious.

‘In fact, I’m off this afternoon, if I can catch the teleporter,’ Hamid said. ‘Flying visit, you know me.’

‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’ll say goodbye, then. I’m busy with the accounts this afternoon, so I won’t see you before you leave.’

Hamid administered a kiss onto his older sister’s cheek and gave her a quick one-armed hug.

‘Don’t work too hard,’ he said, looking down at her furrowed brow and the dark rings under her eyes. She sighed and rubbed her face, leaving faint marks of ink on her cheeks.

‘I’ve just got to finish these,’ she said. ‘Have fun in London, Hamid.’

Hamid took that at the dismissal it was meant as, and he slipped out of the office and continued on to his old bedroom. He managed to avoid bumping into any of his other family members – a not unimpressive feat, as there were so many of them – before digging around in his wardrobes for the reason he had returned to Cairo.

He found the magic sleeves of many garments at the bottom of his second wardrobe, and beneath them the lock-picking tools. He packed them away in his bag of holding and hurried away from his family’s mansion in Cairo to catch the next teleportation circle back to London.

*

He spent the rest of the afternoon in his London flat, pacing and preparing. It had been a while since Wilde had called on him for his services, and Hamid had slipped into a rather relaxed state, assuming the worst was over – or at the very least, that Wilde’s operatives were getting better at their jobs.

But here he was, now, setting up the spare bedroom and rummaging through his bags for accessories.

After ordering enough food for a small army and eating a very small dinner – his stomach was always delicate when he was nervous – Hamid waited in his flat until darkness fell, and then he pulled on his magic sleeves and walked out of the large London townhouse his flat crowned the top of.

He turned the sleeves to an ordinary cloak and robes – not too expensive, just bog-standard clothes that wouldn’t draw attention. He walked through the streets of London with a carefully cultivated, unhurried gait, watching as the streetlights flickered on. The streets were busy, which was good. They weren’t too busy, which was also good.

It took him an hour to walk to the jail. There were a few paladins standing guard on the outer doors as usual, their golden robes of Apollo glowing in the evening darkness. Hamid took a deep breath, checked his pack one last time, and then turned himself invisible.

It was easy enough to walk right past the guards when their shift changed, and Hamid followed two into the building unseen and unheard. He followed the familiar path to the guard break room, splitting off from the guards at the door and taking the corridor left, down deeper into the jail.

The guards in the jail proper, watching the cells, were playing some kind of chess. It was easy enough for Hamid to put them to sleep.

He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck afterwards. He was a bit out of practice, but it was nice to know that it all came back easily enough.

The cells were dark, but it wasn’t hard for Hamid to squint through the dark and make out two dark shapes in the gloom. They were in the same cell, which made his job much easier – and it also suggested that they weren’t exactly high priority prisoners. Hopefully the effort to find them after their jailbreak would also be suitably lacklustre.

Hamid padded right up to the adamantine bars, and gave a low, soft whistle.

Two heads snapped up – one retreated further into the shadows, while the other came right up to the bars.

‘Is anyone there?’ whispered a hoarse voice with a strong west country accent.

Hamid thought back to Wilde’s letter.

‘Zolf?’ he hazarded.

‘Yes? Who is it?’

‘And… Sasha?’

The second figure was suddenly right up to the bars, gripping them tightly.

‘Who’s askin’?’

‘I’m here to rescue you,’ Hamid whispered. ‘Wilde sent me.’

‘Oh, great,’ Zolf said, though he didn’t sound very happy about it.

‘The bars are magic-resistant, but I was told that one of you can pick locks?’

‘Yeah, but they took my stuff,’ Sasha grumbled.

‘Here,’ Hamid said. He dropped his invisibility, lit a small fire in one hand, and held up the lock-picking tools with his other. He hoped his cloak and hood would keep the light off his face, so that they wouldn’t recognise him as an al Tahan until they got back to his flat.

‘You got our stuff?’ Zolf asked.

‘No – we can go get it on the way out,’ Hamid admitted. ‘This is mine - we need this to get you out.’

He only had to hold it up to the bars for it to be snatched away by quick fingers. Barely seconds later faint clicking sounds resonate through the dark jail, and the door swung open with the smallest of squeaks.

‘They need to oil these doors,’ Zolf commented in a whisper as he and Sasha slipped out of their cell. ‘Now what, mysterious rescuer?’

Hamid snapped his fingers and dancing lights skittered across his palms and into the air. In the flickering light, the dwarvish figure – Zolf, Hamid figured – looked decidedly unimpressed. Hamid, stung, swallowed down any comments about their lack of gratefulness to save for later, when they weren’t still inside the jail they were trying to escape from.

‘This way,’ Hamid whispered back, beckoning them to follow him before extinguishing his dancing lights.

‘But the guards – are asleep. Good,’ Zolf said, sounding grudgingly impressed, now, as they came across the erstwhile chess players. Hamid shrugged in the darkness.

‘This isn’t my first rescue mission,’ he said, sharper than he meant to.

Zolf snorted quietly.

Past the sleeping guards, Hamid led his two new charges to the storage cupboard.

‘Your stuff will be in here,’ he said, gesturing to the door as his lights danced above their heads. ‘Go ahead,’ he said to Sasha, rather redundantly as it turned out, since she was already picking the lock.

Beside Hamid, Zolf shuffled from foot to foot.

‘Stop fidgeting,’ Hamid hissed.

‘I’m not,’ Zolf hissed right back. ‘How long can we just stand here, opening doors, lit up by your fancy lights? Aren’t the guards going to realise that two of them have passed out?’

‘I know the timings of the shift changes,’ Hamid muttered. ‘They won’t be coming to check on them for another half an hour.’

‘Got it,’ Sasha said, the storage room door swinging open with barely a sound. Zolf avoided replying to Hamid in favour of rummaging around the cupboard.

‘Put your stuff in this bag.’ Hamid held out his bag of holding.

‘But – my armour-‘

‘Too noisy,’ Hamid snapped. ‘We need to be quiet and quick, now.’

Zolf scowled but did as Hamid asked. Hamid watched in great surprise and admiration as Sasha picked up fourteen daggers and secreted them somewhere about her person; the bundle of leather clothes she passed to Hamid to be put in the bag of holding. Zolf handed over a huge trident, which just about fit into the bag, although with scale armour and a bundle of clothing.

‘Right,’ Hamid said, ‘drink these.’ He pulled out two vials of dark liquid.

‘Invisibility?’ Zolf asked, tilting it against one of the dancing lights. ‘What about you?’

‘I don’t need a potion,’ Hamid said, not a little smug. He pulled out a thin, braided rope. ‘Hold onto this and we won’t lose each other. Try to keep up.’

Zolf and Sasha vanished before his eyes as they swigged their potions; Hamid made himself invisible too and tugged twice on the rope before setting off.

Their pace was slow and lurching, and worryingly noisy.

‘Can’t you hurry it up? And be a little quieter!’ Hamid hissed behind him.

‘Peg leg,’ Zolf breathed right into Hamid’s ear, making him jump. ‘Sorry,’ he added, sarcastically.

‘Oh, well… just… do your best,’ Hamid stuttered, feeling a little guilty. ‘Right; we need to be quiet now until we’re out. Try and move as silently as possible. We’re coming up to the kitchen.’

Sasha was a natural; Zolf was a little less adept at moving silently though the brightly lit corridors. There was a stressful moment when a paladin walked out the breakroom door and almost body-slammed them, but they all managed to get out of the way in time.

And, everything going according to his plan, Hamid walked the two prisoners right out of the front door of the jail.

The streets were getting busier, and Hamid led them towards the more populated areas where large crowds were streaming in and out of bars and casinos.

He kept the invisibility on himself until he’d guided them into a dark alley, a good ten minutes away from the jail. There he let himself appear and shook his sleeves, his dark plainclothes turning into a fancy silk waistcoat and shirt. 

‘Stay close to me,’ he muttered to the still-invisible Zolf and Sasha.

‘Where are you taking us?’ asked Zolf’s disembodied voice.

‘Somewhere you’ll be safe,’ Hamid said, honestly. ‘Where no one would think of looking for you.’

‘Who _are_ you?’ Zolf asked. 

‘You look familiar,’ Sasha mused, from a little further down the alley.

‘Just… follow me,’ Hamid whispered. ‘Wilde’s trusted me to keep you safe. You’ll need to trust me too.’

There was another derisive snort from Zolf’s direction, but Hamid chose to ignore it. He took a breath and then launched himself out of the alley and back into the crowds, his fancy clothes helping him blend in perfectly with the late-night gambling set. A little bit of a stagger to his walk topped off the whole performance, and Hamid kept a big grin on his face the whole way back to his building, keeping the worry that his charges had slipped off into the night buried deep down.

When he opened his front door, however, and loitered in the doorway – ostensibly struggling with the laces on his oxfords – he felt two bodies pass him in the narrow hallway.

With the front door closed, Hamid could finally relax. He dropped the drunk persona and heaved a sigh of relief.

‘This way,’ he said, apparently to the empty hall, and he led his two invisible charges up the stairs to his top floor flat.

The lights were on and the food he’d ordered was laid out on the table, just as Hamid had left it.

‘The invisibility should wear off shortly,’ he said, heading over to his kitchen and pouring himself a big glass of water. Spellcasting and anxiety added up to be thirsty work. ‘Help yourself to food and drinks.’

‘Our stuff,’ Sasha’s voice said.

‘Oh, yeah.’ Hamid set the bag of holding on the ground. ‘Here. Take it.’

Halfway through dressing in their leathers and armour, Zolf and Sasha faded into visibility, and Hamid got his first good look at his new responsibilities. Sasha was tall, human, and thin. In her studded leather jacket she looked not a little scary, though the way she shuffled behind Zolf and avoided Hamid’s eyes gave her an air of awkwardness that seemed to cancel out the danger.

Zolf was a dwarf who was now putting on cleric of Poseidon robes. His blonde beard was neatly braided into two, and he looked unhappy.

‘What kind of a safe house is this?’ he asked, arranging his dolphin pendant on his armour before frowning around. 

‘Um, mine?’ Hamid offered. 

‘It’s your safe house?’

‘No, it’s just my house,’ Hamid clarified. 

Zolf’s face turned thunderous.

‘You took us back to your house? Are you an idiot?’

‘You look really familiar,’ Sasha commented, already over at the table, examining a pile of fancy hog roast sausage rolls. 

‘And just who are you?’ Zolf asked. ‘Why did Wilde get you to rescue us?’

‘Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan,’ Hamid said, giving a mock little bow. ‘And you’re welcome for the rescue, by the way.’

‘Ah,’ Sasha said. ‘That’s why you look familiar. You’re from one of them meritocrat families. Remember, Zolf? The al Tahans?’

Zolf’s face went from ruddy with anger to shockingly pale in a remarkable short time. Sasha stopped eating.

‘You’re… an al Tahan,’ Zolf said, faintly. ‘We’ve been rescued and taken back to the personal home of an _al Tahan_.’

‘Nobody would expect you to be here,’ Hamid pointed out. ‘It’s the perfect cover. I only have one guest room, unfortunately, but there are two beds. I’ve had a few people lay low here until the coast is clear and Wilde can get them out the country.’

‘We can’t leave,’ Sasha said, suddenly. ‘Zolf, we can’t leave without Brock.’

Zolf looked like he was still processing Hamid’s name.

‘Who’s Brock?’ Hamid asked. 

Sasha immediately shut her mouth and looked shifty.

‘Look, I can help get him here so he can leave with you, if that’s what you want-‘

‘How did an al Tahan end up working for Wilde?’

‘I’m more of a private contractor,’ Hamid said, huffily. ‘I don’t _work_ for Wilde any more than he works for the meritocrats.’

Zolf had sunk down onto one of Hamid’s overstuffed, expensively upholstered sofas. Hamid winced at the thought of the metal armour catching at the delicate fabric but pushed down his dismay at the sight of Zolf’s obvious distress.

‘An al Tahan,’ Zolf breathed, shaking his head.

‘Maybe some wine,’ Hamid said. ‘Jail-breaking is always a little fraught.’

Ten minutes later and Zolf was clutching a goblet filled with some of Hamid’s finest merlots, while Sasha had piled a plate high with food and had retreated to a corner armchair to eat it.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know much more than just your first names,’ Hamid said, apologetically, sipping his own glass of wine. ‘Wilde is never exactly forthcoming with information.’

‘Why our first names?’ Zolf asked. Some colour seemed to be coming back to his face as he drank his wine, and he sunk lower into the sofa cushions.

‘We’ve found it encourages trust the quickest,’ Hamid admitted. ‘When a complete stranger turns up to break you out of jail, it’s understandable that you might be a bit wary. Once I had someone refuse to leave with me – they thought it was a trap. If I know your first names, it inspires confidence.’

‘And Wilde didn’t tell you anything else?’

‘Only that one of you had the skills to leave, but not the tools. I had to go all the way home to Cairo to get out my old set of lockpicks, which is why I was a day or so late breaking you out,’ Hamid said. ‘It’s quicker than just acid-splashing the door open. Why?’

‘You don’t know why we were in there?’

‘Only that you’re harlequins, working against the meritocrats,’ Hamid shrugged. ‘But no, I don’t know the details.’

Zolf sighed.

‘Apart from the fact that you’re a member of one of the most famous meritocrat families and working to break anti-meritocrat terrorists out of jail – which makes no sense-‘

‘It does,’ Hamid snapped. ‘You don’t know me.’

‘Hamid, we were arrested trying to break into your family’s bank,’ Zolf said.

‘Oh. Ok.’

‘Ok?’ Zolf looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. There was a vein throbbing alarmingly in his temple. 

‘I mean,’ Hamid said, ‘it’s not like it’s _my_ bank. My sister mainly took over the accounts when my parents retired.’

Zolf just opened and shut his mouth, silently, for a few seconds. Then he shook his head and downed the rest of his wine.

‘Would you like a top-up?’ Hamid asked.

*

‘I’m sorry that it’s only one room,’ Hamid said later, as he showed them his guest room and the made beds. ‘There’s a load of spare clothes and such in the cupboards and wardrobes – there should be some things in there that’ll fit you.’

‘This is great,’ Sasha said, flopping down on hers with a huge sigh. ‘Thanks, Hamid.’

Once Sasha’s rough carapace was cast aside – something Hamid learnt required only tactical application of food and drink and feather beds – she was quite friendly. Zolf was still somewhat in shock, and nothing Hamid said seemed to help.

‘Just ask me if you need anything,’ Hamid said. ‘There’s a cleaner once every two weeks, but she came yesterday so there’s a little while ‘til we need to worry about her seeing you. Usually I ask my more secretive guests to hide in the loft until she leaves.’

‘And we can’t leave?’ Zolf asked, frowning.

Hamid shook his head apologetically

‘Not unless you want to be arrested again,’ he said.

‘So, what – we wait here indefinitely?’

‘Until Wilde comes to collect you,’ Hamid said. ‘Don’t worry. He’s never been longer than six months.’

‘Six months!’ Sasha sat up abruptly. ‘But, Zolf, what about Brock? He’s still with-‘

‘That should be fine,’ Zolf said loudly, talking over Sasha. ‘Thank you, Mr al Tahan.’

Hamid winced. 

‘Please, just call me Hamid,’ he said.

‘Fine. Hamid.’

‘I’ll, uh, leave you to settle in,’ Hamid said. He backed out of the room and softly shut the door. Frantic whispering started up as soon as he was out of sight.

Hamid sighed to himself. He was used to distrust from his rescuees, but not quite to Zolf’s level. He hoped it wouldn’t take Wilde six months to deal with these two harlequins. 

It had been a while since Hamid’s last late-night caper, and now the adrenaline was wearing off he was feeling incredibly fatigued. Even knowing that two new people who didn’t trust him and had only recently seen him as the enemy were sleeping less than ten foot away from him, it didn’t take Hamid long to get to sleep.

He woke the next morning with new resolve to make friendly inroads with his new guests. It didn’t take long for the smell of fresh coffee and bacon to tempt Zolf and Sasha out of Hamid’s guest room and into the kitchen diner. 

‘Morning!’ Hamid said brightly, pouring them both fresh mugs and handing them over with his sunniest smile. Sasha took her mug with a mumbled thanks and averted eyes, but she curled up in an armchair and sipped it happily enough.

Zolf frowned down at his mug and sniffed it before drinking.

‘I haven’t poisoned it,’ Hamid joked. It fell flat when Zolf moved his distrustful stare from the contents of his coffee cup to Hamid himself.

‘Or the food,’ Hamid added.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Zolf cried, out of nowhere.

‘What?’

‘Why do you work for Wilde? Why do you harbour criminals in your own house? You’re a meritocrat!’

‘I’m _not_ a meritocrat,’ Hamid pointed out sniffily. ‘I’m just _related_ to one. And I _don’t_ work for Wilde.’

‘Fine – but that doesn’t explain why you are doing any of this! Even-’ Zolf gestured at his coffee cup, ‘even cooking us breakfast, for the gods’ sakes!’

Hamid felt stung.

‘Well, I don’t know why I bothered,’ he snapped back, ‘since it doesn’t seem like you’re very grateful. I got you out of jail, and I’m letting you stay until it’s safe for you to move, and I made breakfast! But you’re pissed because I won’t, what, tell you my exact intentions? My life story? I don’t even know your full name, _Zolf_ , but you know a lot about _me_.’

Hamid took a breath.

‘Bacon sandwich?’ he asked, in a less shrieky tone of voice.

‘Yes please,’ Sasha said, quickly, from where she had been sitting very still and quiet in the corner.

Hamid served up the sandwiches, quietly fuming. Sasha took hers gratefully, which mollified him somewhat.

‘Smith,’ Zolf grunted, when Hamid passed him a plate.

‘Pardon?’

‘M’name,’ Zolf muttered. ‘Zolf Smith.’

Hamid beamed.

‘Nice to meet you, Zolf Smith,’ he said.

*

Hamid went out as usual, during the day, occupying all his usual haunts. It wouldn’t do to make anyone suspicious, and if some of his favoured casinos happened to be near the temple of Apollo where Zolf and Sasha had been imprisoned, well, that was just a bonus.

There didn’t seem to be too much kerfuffle over their disappearance, and Hamid had been pretty happy with how the breakout had gone. He also very much doubted that anyone would suspect him, of all people, to be breaking harlequins out of jail, both to his gambling playboy persona and his family being well-known for being directly descended from a meritocrat, and thus afforded a certain status. 

Hamid wasn’t particularly comfortable with that status – had never been, in fact – but he had to admit it came in very handy for illegal activities.

He reported the news – or the lack of – to Zolf, in the evening, after a long day of performing as ‘Hamid the rich, affable layabout’. Zolf handed him a cup of tea.

‘They don’t seem that worried,’ he said, ‘and there’s not a massive hunt on for you, or anything.’

‘I know that’s good news,’ Zolf said, snorting, ‘but also it somehow makes me feel a little worthless.’

Hamid looked down at his cup of tea.

‘You said you were caught – robbing the al Tahan bank?’

Zolf raised an eyebrow.

‘I thought Wilde would have told you.’

‘He only tells me what I need to know,’ Hamid shrugged, ‘and you know what Wilde’s like. He won’t tell you something unless your life depends on it.’

‘And even then it’s begrudging,’ Zolf agreed.

Hamid sighed. ‘Do you know how long it took me to convince him that knowing the names of the people I was rescuing would make the act of getting them to trust me infinitely easier?’

Zolf shook his head.

‘How long?’

‘Two years, and a minor incident.’ Hamid said.

‘A minor incident?’

‘Yeah.’ Hamid sipped his tea. ‘Just a little stabbing. But it didn’t take me long to get healed – one of them was a cleric and patched me up as soon as we got back here.’

‘A – _minor_ stabbing?’ Zolf’s eyes were wide. Hamid noticed that they were very green.

‘Honestly, it was barely a scratch,’ Hamid admitted, ‘and they were very apologetic about it all afterwards.’ He finished his tea. ‘Thanks for this, by the way.’

‘It’s nothing,’ Zolf said, looking at his hands and pinkening a little. If Hamid wasn’t completely convinced that Zolf was as unflappable as a rock, he would have said he was blushing.

‘Where’s Sasha, by the way?’ Hamid asked. ‘Not still in bed, surely?’

‘Ah.’ Zolf looked a little guilty. ‘She, uh, discovered the balcony. I think she’s up on the roof right now.’

‘What?’ Hamid couldn’t hold in the little shriek of panic.

‘It’s ok,’ Zolf said, quickly. ‘She waited until after dark and knows how to stay out of sightlines. She just…’ he sighed. ‘She doesn’t like being cooped up. She needs to be out. She likes high places. I think she likes chatting to the gargoyles, too.’

Hamid just clutched his chest, beneath which his heart was currently beating out a samba.

‘You should have _asked_ me,’ he squeaked.

‘She didn’t even ask me,’ Zolf shrugged. ‘She just went. I only know because – well, I realised she’d picked the lock on the balcony doors and I know what she’s like.’

Hamid took a few deep, calming breaths. There was nothing he could do about it now, except wait for Sasha to come back inside. Either she would be spotted, or she wouldn’t. It was too late to worry.

‘Sorry if I don’t exactly have faith in her sneaking abilities,’ Hamid said, not a little sarcastically, ‘but you did get _caught_.’

‘That had nothing to do with Sasha’s sneaking skills,’ Zolf said, quickly. ‘In fact, it had nothing to do with either of us. We…. Well, I’m pretty sure we were set up.’

‘So, you’re not harlequins?’ Hamid asked.

‘Oh, no, we are. But… that’s not everything about us. There are extenuating circumstances.’

‘I believe you,’ Hamid said, and he did. All of the various harlequins and anti-meritocrat terrorists he’d had in his flat so far had been more of the leafleting and secret meeting kinds. It was no doubt why he’d been so successful in the past, and why Wilde trusted him with them without worrying about any ill-feeling on either side.

Not to mention the handy memory-wipe Wilde made sure everyone received after leaving Hamid’s care, to make sure nobody knew that Hamid himself had certain harlequin sympathies.

‘We’re very good at our jobs,’ Zolf insisted. 

Hamid smiled and nodded. ‘I’m sure.’ He got to his feet and stretched, before picking up his empty mug. ‘Another cup of tea?’

‘We’re professionals!’ Zolf called desperately after Hamid as he wandered over to the kitchen.

‘I’m sure you are!’ Hamid called back.

By the time the kettle had boiled and clicked off and he’d made a fresh pot of tea, Hamid was starting to feel a little peckish. He’d spent over five hours in the casinos with loud and boisterous acquaintances and hadn’t had time to eat while he was out. When he poked his head back into the lounge, he was surprised to see that Sasha was back inside and talking to Zolf. From the mulish look on her face, and the belligerent one on Zolf’s, it looked like she was getting told off.

Hamid cleared his throat to get their attention. Zolf abruptly stopped whispering fiercely and both their heads snapped up to look at him.

‘Hi, Sasha,’ Hamid said. ‘I’m thinking of what to have for dinner – is there anything you guys fancied?

Zolf shrugged; Sasha looked intrigued.

‘I thought you lot were too posh to cook,’ she said. Zolf elbowed her – their height disparities meant that he got her in the upper thigh, and she winced.

‘Oh, yeah – I was just going to order food service,’ Hamid said, a little embarrassed. ‘There’s a chef for the building downstairs. I can cook,’ he added, ‘but mainly breakfasts.’

He blushed and hoped that neither of them asked why specifically breakfasts. He really didn’t want to admit to two people he’d only just met that he’d had so many ‘guests’ for breakfast in his early university years that he’d become very good at cooking breakfasts purely from self-preservation.

‘I’m fine with anything,’ Zolf said, even as Sasha frowned.

‘Won’t they be suspicious if you order for more than one person?’

‘I always bulk-buy, and live off the leftovers,’ Hamid admitted. ‘I find it’s easier.’

‘Oh, to be rich,’ Zolf sighed, though he was smiling as he did so.

Out of all his guests, apart from the rocky beginning, Hamid found he enjoyed Zolf and Sasha’s company the most. The other harlequins had always been wary, no matter how long they stayed at his flat. Zolf and Sasha didn’t seem to care about his family once the original misunderstanding had faded, and once Hamid had impressed upon Sasha the need to be careful when she snuck onto the roof (she had rolled her eyes but not said anything else) they were pleasant to be around. Then again, it had only been three days, and Hamid hadn’t had guests in a long time. Maybe, he thought, he had just been lonely.

Zolf read a lot – Hamid’s bookshelves were full of books that no one had ever touched, and Zolf seemed to make it his personal mission to work his way through them all. The only ones he seemed to avoid were Hamid’s old mathematics textbooks from university. Sasha seemed to amuse herself by picking delicately through Hamid’s stuff, and telling him how much they were worth.

‘You know a lot about antiques,’ Hamid observed, a little dazed after being subjected to a five-minute-long speech about the value and providence of his cocktail cabinet. Sasha didn’t speak much, so when she really settled into a conversation it was always a bit of a surprise.

She shrugged expansively.

‘Lived with an antiques dealer for a while,’ she muttered. ‘Picked up some stuff.’ She ran a hand lovingly over the carved edges of the cabinet.

Hamid went to his favourite London club on the fourth day of Zolf and Sasha’s stay at his flat, because it was a Friday, and he always went to the Diogenes for a fish dinner and polite conversation. He saw a few old acquaintances from Cambridge and passed the time with them, before making his excuses and wandering home, full and happy.

The nights were getting darker as winter drew in, and by the time Hamid got home, it was fully dark outside. Sasha, as usual, was absent from inside the flat – no doubt on the roof with the gargoyles – but Zolf was curled up in an armchair, deeply focussed on a book. His peg leg, Hamid was surprised to notice, was lying unattached on the coffee table.

Zolf was so engrossed in his reading that he only looked up when Hamid gave a pointed cough.

‘Oh, hello,’ he said, blinking. 

‘Good book?’ Hamid asked, wandering over to sit on the sofa, very pointedly not looking at the peg leg.

‘I’m enjoying it,’ Zolf said. ‘Not much else to do around here.’

‘Oh, sorry-‘

‘No, no, it’s ok,’ Zolf said, hurriedly. ‘It’s not your fault. I’m just not used to having so much… free time.’

‘I don’t have many… Harrison Campbells,’ Hamid said, squinting to read the book’s jacket, ‘but I can get you more if you’re enjoying it.’

‘If you wouldn’t mind.’ Zolf full-on beamed. It struck Hamid that he hadn’t seen Zolf smile so openly… well, ever. ‘Only this is the second of a series, I think, but you only seemed to have this one on your shelves.’

‘Yeah, I think that was my ex’s,’ Hamid admitted. ‘I don’t remember buying any of that stuff. It’s not really my… thing.’

‘I’m enjoying it,’ Zolf said, somewhat defensively.

‘Then I’ll get you some more,’ Hamid smiled. ‘Sorry if it’s not very exciting, being stuck here all day and all night.’

‘Better than jail,’ Zolf pointed out.

After a week of harbouring his two new fugitives, Hamid grew a bit too complacent. It was nice to have company in the evenings, even if they were still a little wary of him. Hamid spent his days as he usually would, making sure no one was suspicious, Sasha promised to only go out onto the roof under the cover of darkness, and Zolf worked his way through a stack of Harrison Campbell novels.

Hamid relaxed perhaps a bit too much.

On a lazy Sunday morning, Hamid was woken by shouting. Shouting coming from his lounge.

He leapt out of bed, not stopping to pull on his robe or his slippers, and burst out of his bedroom to see-

‘Bertie?’ he squeaked.

Bertie was standing by the sofa, his large face red and shining, pointing a large finger down at a belligerent Zolf. Bertie opened his mouth but was beaten to the punch by Zolf.

‘This… _man_ … was asleep on your sofa!’ Zolf yelled, pointing right back at Bertie with a vicious finger. ‘He just broke in!’

‘No, Zolf – it’s ok,’ Hamid said, holding up his hands. ‘Sorry, I completely forgot. Bertie has a key.’

Bertie harrumphed and put his hands on his hips. His armour was hanging off him, as though he’d only managed to undo a few of the clasps before passing out, drunk, on Hamid’s large sofa.

‘You see!’ Bertie boomed. ‘I’m not some kind of criminal!’

‘You _forgot_ you gave this… this idiot a key?’

The focus of Zolf’s ire seemed to have transferred from Bertie to Hamid. Hamid thought this was rather unfair.

‘Look, he’s been out of the country for a while, and I didn’t know he was back in London!’ Hamid said, defensively. ‘And besides, I wasn’t exactly planning for guests.’

Bertie’s eyes were flickering between Hamid and Zolf with a certain thoughtful air. Hamid realised just a second too late that Bertie was looking at their state of undress, putting two and two together, and jumping to ten.

‘Oh-HO!’ Bertie boomed, walking over to Hamid and slapping him on the back. Hamid lurched forward with a cough, the breath knocked out of him.

‘No,’ he wheezed, but Bertie was already in full flow.

‘I’m sorry for disturbing this little love nest,’ Bertie said, dropping a huge wink to Zolf. Zolf’s body went rigid. ‘My apologies, Hamid. I’ll just have a spot of breakfast and I’ll get out of your hair. Leave you two… in peace.’

Hamid grabbed his head with both hands and groaned.

‘Bertie, shut up,’ he said through gritted teeth. 

‘No; you have my full apologies, Mr…’

‘Smith,’ Zolf said, his jaw also clenched. ‘And I think you’d outstayed your welcome, Mr-‘

‘ _Sir_ Bertrand MacGuffingham,’ Bertie said, chest pushed out. One of his pauldrons slipped off and landed on the floor with a loud crash.

‘Look, Bertie, now’s not a great time,’ Hamid said, trying to tug Bertie away. Bertie didn’t move an inch. ‘I’ve got a couple of friends staying with me, and-‘

‘Everything alright?’ Sasha asked, walking in through the balcony doors, fully dressed in her leather jacket. Her hands were loose by her sides, but Hamid had seen her wrist sheathes and didn’t trust her supposed calm one jot.

‘Hamid! You dark horse!’

‘No,’ Hamid moaned. ‘Bertie, you’ve got it all wrong.’

‘You can tell me all about it over breakfast,’ Bertie said, patting Hamid’s head in a magnanimous, patronising fashion.

Hamid desperately wanted to go back to bed and pretend he was still asleep.

Breakfast was… uncomfortable, to say the least. Bertie ate with the blithe confidence of one who recognised social mores but bulldozered right over them in order to talk about himself. Zolf, uncharacteristically, said very little, but mainly scowled into his plate. Sasha stared at Bertie in apparent amazement of his general existence. This seemed to just encourage Bertie, who had always been very good at knowing when he had a captive audience, and if he didn’t, how to make it captive.

Hamid wondered if Sasha had ever met someone quite so unrelentingly posh as Bertie. Hamid didn’t think he had ever met anyone quite like Bertie, even in the high circles he moved in.

Bertie regaled the table at large with stories of his great deeds on the continent. Mainly he seemed intent on telling them all about his adventure with a paladin and an archaeologist, and how he had saved both of their lives, and how so very grateful they were.

Hamid just ate his food and tried not to catch anyone’s eye.

After the food was done, and Hamid busied himself with clearing away the plates, Bertie seemed to realise that he had yet to let anyone else talk and turned to Hamid.

‘So, still in London, eh, Hamid?’ he asked. ‘Where’d you meet your new friends?’

‘My _friends_ ,’ Hamid said, stressing the word as much as physically possible, in the hope that the meaning would pierce its way through Bertie’s thick head, ‘are staying with me while they… because their place has got mould.’

‘Lots of mould,’ Zolf said, immediately. He elbowed Sasha, who was still eating.

‘Very damp,’ she said, muffled by scrambled eggs.

‘So what is it you two do?’ Bertie asked, frowning at them. ‘You’re not from the Oxbridge set, are you?’

‘No, no,’ Hamid said, quickly. ‘They’re…’ he paused. He assumed that Zolf and Sasha had jobs other than working for a secret terrorist organisation, but he’d never actually asked them.

‘We do freelance mercenary work, mainly,’ Zolf said, quickly. 

‘That’s how we met!’ Hamid added, inspiration sparking. ‘They did some work for my family, here in London. We got chatting. Then, when they needed somewhere to stay, well, I had a spare room.’

‘Classic Hamid, taking in waifs and strays,’ Bertie grinned. Hamid could see Zolf bristling at the idea of being either a waif or a stray, but to be honest, Bertie wasn’t far wrong.

‘Hadn’t you best be getting on, Bertie?’ Hamid asked pointedly. Bertie missed the point and shrugged.

‘Not really. I was out quite late and didn’t have any plans today.’

‘Why don’t you go home and get changed, and I’ll meet you at the club for a late lunch?’ Hamid encouraged.

‘Excellent plan!’ Bertie boomed. ‘And what of your new friends?’

‘They’re busy today,’ Hamid said quickly, putting a hand on Bertie’s elbow – the highest place he could reach – and began to lead him away from the kitchen and towards the front door. ‘Lots of… mercenary work to do!’

‘I’ll see you at two, then, Hamid,’ Bertie said. ‘Goodbye Mr Smith, Miss Rackett!’

Hamid shut the door behind him with a huge sigh of relief.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, then, turning back to Zolf and Sasha. ‘I’d forgotten he still had a key – he’s been in Europe for the past two years, since I started doing this, and when I stopped – doing this – I just didn’t have to worry about it anymore.’

‘No harm done,’ Zolf said, a little grumpily.

‘Nah,’ Sasha agreed, still eating.

‘Right,’ Hamid said, adjusting his pyjamas. ‘I should go, er, change.’

‘Nice pyjamas,’ Sasha called, as Hamid hurried to his bedroom, and Hamid made the mistake of looking back and catching Zolf’s eyes. Hamid felt his face flush red before he escaped to the solitude of his bedroom.

He hadn’t been around his guests in his pyjamas before – he’d always washed up first, in his ensuite, before facing them. It felt incredibly intimate – and Bertie’s misunderstanding upon being discovered by Zolf that morning had revealed much more about Hamid’s tastes and habits than he felt entirely comfortable with.

Hamid hoped Zolf didn’t think about it too much.

Zolf collared Hamid before he left to meet Bertie at the club, his face dark and serious.

‘Is this MacGuffingham going to be a problem?’ he asked, lowly. ‘Knowing about us staying here?’

Hamid shook his head slowly.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Bertie’s probably already forgotten your names. Anything not immediately important to him and his ego is generally left to the wayside. I’ll get my key back, and then we won’t have any unpleasant morning surprises.’

‘Is that something he does often?’ Zolf asked. ‘It feels like a bit of an invasion of privacy.’

Hamid shrugged.

‘I mainly gave him a key because he kept smashing the door in when he couldn’t open it.’ 

‘He sounds like a terror,’ Zolf said, shaking his head.

‘He is,’ Hamid admitted. ‘But he’s my oldest friend. And he does care about me, in his own way.’

‘Hmm.’ Zolf didn’t look convinced, but Hamid didn’t need Zolf and Bertie to be bosom buddies. After this lunch, Hamid was hoping the two would never have to meet again.

‘What are you two whispering about over there?’ Sasha called. 

Hamid suddenly became of how close he and Zolf were standing; Hamid by the door, Zolf leaning against the wall, looking down at him. 

‘Um,’ he squeaked, backing away and fumbling with the door handle. ‘I’ll… see you later.’ And he made his escape out of his flat in short order.

Bertie was on fine form at the club, still full of stories about his alps adventure.

‘And since they’re so grateful I delivered the crown directly to them, no doubt they’ll get straight to work on my statue,’ Bertie blustered, as they tucked into the fine roast dinner. Hamid had already had a few large glasses of the very expensive wine and was feeling a little fuzzy.

‘How exciting,’ he managed.

‘Now, Hamid,’ Bertie said, clearing his throat and leaning in. ‘Your new friends.’

‘Oh no,’ Hamid said, unable to stop himself. 

‘That Zolf character,’ Bertie continued, oblivious to Hamid’s panic. ‘He seems a little… rough… for your tastes, if you don’t mind me mentioning it.’

‘I’m not… we’re not… we’re just _friends_ , Bertie. Really,’ Hamid said.

‘Hmm.’ Bertie sat back, frowning. ‘Well. If you’re sure.’

‘I’m completely sure,’ Hamid said, downing the rest of his wine.

‘Good to see you out and about, though,’ Bertie said, in a surprisingly heartfelt fashion. ‘After all that nastiness with your illness.’

‘Hmm,’ Hamid said. ‘Yes.’ He didn’t know what else to say.

‘It all… cleared up, then?’ Bertie asked, gesturing to his own face and neck. Hamid just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

‘Good, good,’ Bertie said, before downing his own wine and following it up with a large, satisfied sigh. ‘Excellent stuff. The beer is good in the alps, of course, but the wine just doesn’t quite hit the spot.’

‘Hmm,’ Hamid said, more out of politeness than agreement. ‘Shall we move to the smoking room?’

Ensconced in a halfling-sized leather armchair, a glass of port in one hand and a cigar almost the size of his forearm in the other, Hamid felt pleasantly relaxed. He let Bertie’s boastful chatter wash over him like the white noise of crashing waves at the beach, and he tried not to think about anything at all.

This aim was somewhat crushed by the sound of a delicate cough, and Hamid swivelled around in his chair to see a fine burgundy waistcoat and shoulder-length, shining hair. 

‘Wilde!’ Bertie boomed. ‘You’re still hanging around your betters, then?’

Wilde pursed his lips in Bertie’s direction.

‘Good to see you too, Sir Bertrand,’ he said, with all the amusement of a schoolmaster facing a boisterous student. 

‘Hello, Wilde,’ Hamid said, craning his neck to see the man.

‘Careful, Hamid,’ Wilde said, leaning down to brush some ash off Hamid’s lapel. ‘You might want to pay closer attention to your… movements.’

Hamid wondered, with his brain fuzzed with alcohol, if that was a supposed to hold a double entendre.

‘You should invite your new friends to the club, Hamid,’ Bertie said, looking at Wilde with his nose turned up. ‘No doubt even they would improve the calibre of the company here. Things have really gone downhill since I was in the alps if they’ll even let _journalists_ in.’

Hamid winced and avoided Wilde’s eyes. Letting slip that Bertie was aware of his… special guests… felt incredibly sloppy and unprofessional. 

‘Oh?’ Wilde raised an eyebrow. ‘Would they want to come here and spend company with bloated airheads such as yourself, Sir Bertrand?’

Bertie made a noise like a steaming kettle; Hamid decided to step in, even as Bertie’s face went an alarming shade of red.

‘They aren’t really the high society type,’ Hamid said, quickly. ‘And besides, they won’t be with me for long.’

‘Oh no, Hamid, it’s always good to have company,’ Wilde said airily, waving a hand. ‘You might want to keep them around for a while.’

If Hamid could have groaned out loud, he would have.

‘It is good that you’re not alone, Hamid,’ Bertie added, though he looked most unhappy at having to agree with Wilde. ‘After all that time you had to be in quarantine.’

‘Yes,’ Hamid said, sinking into his chair.

‘Sir Bertrand,’ Wilde said, smoothly turning the focus back to Bertie. ‘I actually came here to talk to you.’

‘You did?’ Bertie said, wrongfooted by the sudden honeyed tones directed right at him.

Wilde may not be Hamid’s favourite person, but he had to admit that Wilde could be very charismatic if he wanted to be – and he had Bertie-wrangling down to a t.

‘I did,’ Wilde said, all but slinking over to Bertie’s chair. He leant on the arm in a disturbingly coquettish way that made Hamid cringe. Bertie seemed to enjoy it, because he developed a sudden leer and leant closer. ‘I heard about your adventures finding Hannibal’s tomb, and I was wondering if I could have an interview. One on one. It would be _such_ a wonderful exposé.’

‘Well,’ Bertie harrumphed. ‘It is a very exciting story, as Hamid already knows. Right, Hamid?’

‘What? Uh, yes,’ Hamid supplied.

‘Well, then.’ Wilde stood, and offered Bertie a slim, pale hand. ‘If you don’t mind, Hamid, I’ll borrow Bertie for the foreseeable future.’

It was the perfect way to both distract Bertie and keep him busy. Hamid mentally applauded Wilde’s quick thinking. 

‘Of course not,’ Hamid said, quickly. ‘I should be going, anyway.’

It was already getting dark as he walked back to his flat, but Hamid enjoyed the relative anonymity the dusk gave him. He changed his magic sleeves before leaving the club from fancy clothes to just a workaday suit, so as not to attract any potential pickpockets – not that he couldn’t deal with them, but he didn’t want to cause a scene – and had a quiet, contemplative walk back home.

The lamps were on and the hearth was lit when he let himself in. Zolf, as usual, was curled up reading, and grunted a hello as Hamid entered. Sasha was nowhere in sight, so Hamid assumed the roof and left it at that.

Hamid went over to his drinks cabinet and poured himself a whisky, before retreating into his bedroom. There, in his ensuite, he took a deep breath, a sip of his drink, and stared at himself in the mirror.

Then he took off the locket he wore constantly, ostensibly containing small portraits of his family.

The spell wore off slowly once the locket was off. Hamid watched as the scales rippled into view along his neck and up the sides of his face. He inspected his scalp – were there more? Was his hair starting to fall out? He couldn’t quite tell. It had been a long time since he’d taken the locket off and looked – properly looked – at himself in the light.

He could feel the panic rising – he took deep, calming breaths in an attempt to stop himself hyperventilating. The scales were a shining brass and shone strangely in the gaslight of the bathroom.

A knock on his bedroom door startled Hamid so badly his hand shot out and knocked his glass of the side. It smashed loudly on the tiled floor of the bathroom.

‘Hamid?’ Zolf called. ‘You ok in there?’

‘Yeah, sorry,’ Hamid said, his voice embarrassingly high and squeaky. He lunged for his locket and practically threw it back around his neck. The scales vanished instantly. ‘You just… you startled me.’

‘I wanted to ask if you wanted any dinner?’ Zolf asked, sounding concerned. ‘Well, if you wanted anything heated up. Sasha and I were going to have some of that leftover ham.’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Hamid squeaked.

‘You need any help in there? With the glass?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ Hamid repeated.

‘Ok,’ Zolf said, though he didn’t sound convinced. Hamid didn’t relax until he heard the signature thumping steps of Zolf and his peg leg heading away from his bedroom door, and even then he double-checked his appearance in the mirror, locket firmly around his neck, before leaving the ensuite and going to get the dustpan and brush from the kitchen.

‘Sorry about your glass,’ Zolf said, awkwardly, as he watched Hamid tip the remnants of the cut crystal glass into the bin.

‘It’s ok,’ Hamid said. He was more upset about the whisky that had to be sponged off the tiles in his bathroom, but there was always more where that came from, and he’d already had too much to drink today.

‘Oh,’ Zolf said, stepping too close. ‘You’re bleeding.’

Hamid looked down – sure enough, the side of his hand was bright red with blood.

‘I must have brushed against some of the glass,’ Hamid said, inspecting his hand distractedly. ‘I didn’t feel it at all.’

‘Here,’ Zolf said, and he leant even closer and took Hamid’s bleeding hand between his two larger ones. They were warm and dry, and pleasantly rough with calluses. Zolf muttered a few words – Hamid caught ‘Poseidon’ in there amongst others – and there followed a white-blue glow around their joined hands. A fresh, clean smell like the salt spray of the sea was left hanging in the air even after the glow faded, and Zolf released Hamid’s hand. Hamid inspected it – the cut was gone.

Zolf looked pretty pleased with himself.

‘Looks like Poseidon’s still listening to me,’ he said.

‘Thanks, Zolf,’ Hamid said, offering a small smile.

‘’s nothing,’ Zolf grunted, suddenly finding his own hands very interesting. ‘Oh,’ he said, looking back up at Hamid, ‘do we need to be worried about your… friend… asking questions about us?’

‘Oh, Bertie?’ Hamid said, a little dazed by the divine magic and the handholding. Zolf was still standing very close. ‘No, I don’t think so. Wilde seems to have him in hand- oh!’

Hamid patted down his waistcoat, where Wilde had brushed cigar ash off, and sure enough there was a small folded piece of paper tucked away there.

It read, quite simply, ‘lay low. They’re watching.’

‘Shit,’ Hamid said. ‘Wilde says I’m being watched. Looks like you’ll be stuck here for a while.’

To Hamid’s surprise, Zolf didn’t exactly look crushed by that news.

‘If he thinks it’s best,’ he said. ‘Not like there’s anything pressing I have to do, once I am free to go. And besides, Sasha won’t leave without Brock.’

‘Where will you go?’ Hamid asked, curiously. Then he shook himself. ‘Sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘Ignore me. I probably shouldn’t know that.’

‘I don’t know myself,’ Zolf admitted. ‘Back to the sea, maybe. Get a legal job on a goods ship. Maybe Sasha will want to come with me. Maybe she’ll go back to her old job.’

‘You’re a sailor?’ 

‘I was,’ Zolf said. ‘Used to be in the Navy and everything.’

‘What happened?’

‘My ship went down,’ he said grimly. ‘I was the only survivor. Poseidon saw fit to save me, so after that I dedicated myself to his service.’

‘Oh,’ Hamid said, a hand to his mouth. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Zolf.’

‘Don’t be,’ Zolf said, brusquely. ‘It’s all in the past.’

‘You wanted to know why I work with Wilde – why I work to help the harlequins,’ Hamid said, quietly.

‘It’s ok, Hamid, you don’t need to tell-‘

‘No,’ Hamid said. ‘No, I think I do.’

Maybe the alcohol had loosened his tongue enough that he felt able to talk about it – maybe Zolf standing so close and smelling of sea salt and sharing his own backstory was encouraging Hamid to do the same. But whatever it was, Hamid wanted to speak it out loud.

And Zolf would forget, anyway, once Wilde took him and Sasha away.

‘My sister,’ Hamid began. There was a lump in his throat – he cleared it harshly and started again. ‘My sister showed signs of… of meritocrat descendance,’ he said. ‘Powers, and abilities. Certain capabilities. She was… she was murdered.’ Hamid choked it out, the truth, the words he’d barely even thought in his own head.

‘Oh, Hamid-‘

‘The public statement was that she was murdered by the harlequins. By anti-meritocrat terrorists who hate my family and the privileges we have from our meritocrat descent,’ Hamid said, bitterly. ‘But I was there. At the performance when it happened. And I know the truth. She wasn’t murdered by the harlequins, though a few local agents took the fall. She was murdered by meritocratic agents.’

Zolf was silent. His face was stony in the warm light of the kitchen lamps.

‘Do you know what hurts the most?’ Hamid said, hysteria entering his voice. ‘What really got me? I still don’t know _why_.’

There were tears streaming down his face, now – he hadn’t notice them start, but they were coming thick and fast.

Zolf stepped forward, silently, and held out his arms. Hamid leant into them, their warmth and sturdiness and sea salt scent making the tears come faster.

‘Sorry,’ he hiccoughed. ‘Sorry, I – I’ve had a bit to drink.’

Zolf just held him close and said nothing.

After a minute or so, Hamid regained control of his tear ducts and managed to stem the flow of tears. Zolf was still holding him, which was nice.

‘So, you found Wilde, and work against the meritocrats,’ Zolf said, his voice rumbling in his chest next to Hamid’s face. Hamid nodded.

‘More like Wilde found me,’ he said.

There was a small cough, and Zolf drew back from Hamid to reveal Sasha, leaning against the kitchen door, a small smile on her face. Her smile faded when she saw Hamid’s tear-streaked face.

‘You alright, Hamid?’ she asked. Hamid was so touched by the obvious concern in her voice that he almost started crying again. But he held it in, this time; he smiled, and sniffed, and wiped his face roughly with his newly healed hand.

‘I’m ok, Sasha,’ he said. 

‘I heard,’ she said, quietly. She took a few steps forward – Zolf drew back from Hamid a little, and Sasha came closer. ‘Hamid – you need to know. We can’t leave with Wilde until – until we get Brock.’

Hamid remembered that name – the first night he’d brought them back to his flat, Sasha had reacted badly to the news that they might have to stay in hiding for up to six months. 

‘Who’s Brock?’ he asked, delicately. Zolf looked to Sasha. Sasha took a deep breath.

‘Brock’s… my cousin,’ she said, finally. ‘They took ‘im, and they’re holding him for ransom, and so the harlequins sent us out to steal gold from the bank to pay it. They’ve still got him.’

‘Do you know where?’ Hamid asked, mind turning quickly. ‘Who has him? Meritocrat agents? Wilde and I have an in with them – we could see-‘

‘The last we heard, he was in Paris,’ Zolf said, quickly. ‘But if you start making waves about this, people are going to know that you’re involved in this. No one knows about Brock’s capture except us and some high-ranking harlequins. And they still think Wilde’s a secret agent for the meritocrats. They don’t trust him.’

‘Who can blame them,’ Sasha grumbled.

Hamid thought for a second, chewing on his lower lip. His teeth, getting sharper than ever, cut through and he could taste the blood on his tongue.

‘We’ll have to think about it,’ Hamid admitted. ‘but I’m sure there’s a way we can get to him.’

And make sure he isn’t erased from your memories when Wilde takes you away, he thought privately. 

He took a breath, avoided Zolf’s eyes, and stretched his smile wider. ‘What do you want to eat?’

There was a silence during dinner – not awkward, but stilted. After the intense conversation they’d had in the kitchen, Hamid felt it wasn’t the right time for small talk. And he didn’t know what else to say.

After dinner, though, with the plates cleared and Sasha and Zolf occupying their usual positions in the living room – Sasha curled up on the corner armchair, Zolf stretching his leg out on the sofa – Hamid asked a question he’d been mulling over for a while.

‘Why are you two harlequins?’ he asked.

Zolf just shrugged.

‘M’dad was a big part of the movement down in the South West,’ he said. ‘And my brother took over from him, when he retired. After my brother… well, since I couldn’t exactly go back to the Navy, after essentially deserting, I joined up. Got the family ring.’ He twiddled his fingers in the air, so the harlequin ring flashed in the firelight. 

‘My cousin,’ Sasha said, brief and to the point.

‘So, because of your family,’ Hamid said. ‘Rather than due to particular political leanings.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say I entirely disagree,’ Zolf said, slowly. ‘The meritocrats do rule over everything with an iron fist. What gives them the right?’

‘Apart from being divine and all-powerful, you mean?’ 

‘Well, nothing’s _all_ powerful. Except maybe the gods, and even they have limits.’

‘Brock used to say that all the meritocrats ever did was destroy a civilisation and then hold it over the rest of the world like a threat,’ Sasha piped up from the corner. ‘They have control over all our most powerful magic artefacts, they don’t allow resurrections, they’ve banned certain kinds of magic. That they’re essentially holding the world hostage. That they’re holding back technology and advancement, because they’re scared that we’ll build something more powerful than them and realise that they aren’t the divine rulers they’ve said they are.’

Zolf and Hamid turned to stare at Sasha – she shrugged. 

‘He used to talk about it a lot to my – to Eldarion. She taught me, for a bit. Before I joined the Other London gang.’

‘You were part of a gang?’ Hamid looked at Sasha with fresh eyes. She just shrugged again.

‘I got out. Eventually. But they’re the ones who got Brock. Holding him hostage. The harlequins wouldn’t help unless we robbed the Tahan bank.’

‘Makes sense,’ Hamid mused. ‘A lot of Harlequin activity focuses on meritocratic families rather than the meritocrats themselves.’

‘In our defence, you are a lot less scary than a meritocrat,’ Zolf said. The firelight danced in his eyes, and he looked amused. Hamid snorted in response.

‘I’m not even in the same realm of scariness,’ he agreed. Hamid stared at the harlequin ring on Zolf’s finger. ‘I think you’re very brave,’ he said, eventually.

‘Brave? For what, robbing your bank?’

‘Being a harlequin, I mean,’ Hamid said. He looked down at his own hands – they were smooth and tanned, though in his mind’s eye he could see the glint of scales. ‘Fighting against the meritocrats. Taking on divine, immortal beings. How can you even hope to fight them?’

‘You are, too,’ Sasha pointed out from her corner.

‘I’m on your side,’ Hamid said, ‘but I could never join the harlequins. It just feels so… so hopeless. How can you win against inevitability?’

‘Well, you can’t with that kind of thinking,’ Zolf said, though he had a glint in his eye.

‘I just don’t think I could be that brave.’ Hamid stared into the firelight. He wished he was brave – he sometimes wished he’d joined the harlequins as soon as Aziza’s funeral had been over, but even if they had accepted him with his meritocrat blood into their ranks, he didn’t think he could ever pluck up the courage to do so.

He burnt Wilde’s note in the fireplace rather than with a snap of his fingers – the hidden scales on his skin felt tight and sore, and he didn’t want to remind himself of them even more. Zolf and Sasha were not particularly happy about the Bertie situation, even though Hamid told them that Wilde was handling it.

‘He’s pretty much an expert at Bertie-wrangling,’ Hamid said. ‘And trust me, you do not want to know the extent to which he goes. And enjoys it, too, by all appearances.’

Sasha frowned, quizzical; Zolf, clearly the more worldly of the two, grimaced.

‘Great,’ he said, ‘that’s something I’m never going to be able to unsee.’

‘You’re lucky,’ Hamid said. ‘It’s just in your imagination. I’ve… _seen_ things.’

He and Zolf shuddered simultaneously.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a long one, but it was hard to find a natural stopping point!
> 
> Also, I know that they spell it `Cambell' on the podcast details, but I have made the executive decision to not do that, because otherwise James Ross' joke about Campbell's soup doesn't work and I very much enjoyed that joke.

After Wilde’s note, Hamid made the executive decision to stay in during the day more often, rather than frequent his regular clubs and casinos. He sent Bertie a telegram – as always, Bertie had lodged himself at the Savoy – to inform him that Hamid and his guests had unfortunately come down with an infectious flu and could not take any visitors. It worked well enough – Bertie sent a rather rude telegram back, insinuating that the illness had originated from Hamid’s less-than-high class guests and infected him through close contact, but it was at least apparent that Bertie neither wanted to risk catching that same disease or nor cared overmuch for Hamid’s health and wellbeing. His telegram didn’t mention Wilde by name, but in the unusually verbose communiqué (for a telegram, that was – Bertie never used ten words when a hundred would do the trick just as well) Bertie heavily implied that he would be kept busy for the foreseeable future with certain activities.

Hamid read that part of the telegram aloud, just to see the winces on Sasha and Zolf’s faces. 

The ruse worked well enough for a week or so – Bertie had obviously passed the news of Hamid’s illness around, since Hamid received a few cards and bouquets from well-wishers but no brave souls willing to risk their own health for a visit. It was a wonderfully peaceful time. The regular food orders kept coming, though Hamid cancelled the maid, and Hamid spent a lovely restful fortnight reading all the books he’d been meaning to get to and playing cards and games with Zolf and Sasha. 

It turned out that Sasha, while bad at the card games themselves, was very good at sleight of hand, which added a certain difficulty level to the usual game of blackjack or poker. Hamid found it very entertaining.

But the ruse could only last so long. Around two weeks after Bertie’s visit, Hamid received another telegram – from his sister. She was letting him know that she would be in London for the next few days and that, ill or not, she wanted to meet with him. Hamid panicked – not wanting her to come to the flat and see that he had guests, he sent her a telegram back informing her of his recovery, and she replied promptly with a lunch invitation at Claridge’s the next day.

‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ Zolf said, as Hamid panicked some more that evening.

‘She’s never in London,’ he said, chewing on his nails distractedly. ‘She spends most of her time at the house, in Cairo.’

‘Maybe she just wants to see how you are?’ Sasha offered.

Hamid laughed, a little sardonically.

‘She doesn’t have the time for pleasantries,’ he said. ‘The business keeps her… well, busy.’

Despite his misgivings, Hamid had no excuse but to put on his nice lunching suit and take a carriage mournfully over to Claridge’s the next day. Saira was already there, sipping white wine out of a spotless glass and perusing the menu, her half-moon spectacles resting gently on the end of her nose.

‘Hi, Saira,’ Hamid said, as the waiter – a large, rather burly orc, immaculately dressed in his uniform – pulled out his chair effortlessly. He sat down and immediately began to fiddle with his napkin.

‘Good to see you looking well,’ Saira said, barely glancing up from the menu. ‘You’ve been ill?’

‘Just the flu,’ Hamid shrugged, twisting his napkin around his fingers. ‘It’s the season for it, after all. And the moist air in this city, from the Thames, really gets in your lungs and-‘

‘I’m in London, currently,’ Saira said, charging right through Hamid’s nervous babble, ‘because of some trouble with the local branch of our business.’

‘Oh?’ Hamid squeaked. ‘Trouble?’

‘Hmm.’ Finally, Saira looked up from her menu. She waved a hand in the air and a waiter all but materialised beside her.

‘My brother will have a glass of the house white, and we’ll both have the lunch tasting menu,’ Saira ordered.

‘Certainly, ma’am,’ the waiter said, smoothly.

‘I’d like a glass of water, too, please,’ Hamid called after the waiter’s fast retreating back.

‘Now, you won’t have heard about this, Hamid,’ Saira continued, as though she hadn’t interrupted herself, ‘because we’ve been keeping any talk of this trouble as quiet as possible.’

Hamid, not trusting himself to speak, just nodded.

‘I’m in London for the rest of the week to placate our many investors and valued customers, and to hopefully hand over the reins here to you.’

‘Oh?’ 

The waiter appeared at Hamid’s elbow with a glass of water. Hamid immediately took a big swig, his throat suddenly very dry.

‘I thought – because of my _condition_ ,’ Hamid said, in the loudest whisper he could manage, ‘that I wasn’t to be involved in any of the family business.’

‘I thought you had that under control?’ Saira frowned at him over her spectacles. Hamid just stared.

‘Well – I-‘

‘Look, Hamid, I know you’ve had your… troubles, but we really need a member of the family down on the ground in London, especially since it seems to be a target for certain groups at the moment. And besides,’ Saira said, ‘I know for a fact you’re managing to go out to your clubs and casinos, and have done for a few years, even with your… affliction.’

‘Yes, but-‘

‘Hamid.’ Her voice was low, and serious, and she was looking at him in a way that, if Hamid didn’t know his older sister any better, he would say was something akin to pleading. ‘I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have to – and if I didn’t think you were capable.’

Hamid definitely didn’t think he was capable of running the London branch of his family bank – especially since he was currently harbouring the two criminals who tried to break into said bank in his own flat, after personally breaking them out of jail.

‘But – Saira-‘ he started. He stopped at the sight of her face.

The waiter chose that moment to arrive with both Hamid’s wine and the first course of the tasting menu, and Saira took off her spectacles – signalling that the business talk was over for the moment.

‘So, Hamid – anything new?’ she asked, in an awkward sisterly attempt to connect. ‘Any… special friends?’

‘Oh god, you sound like dad,’ Hamid groaned. ‘No, not really – I’ve been ill for the past few weeks, and even besides that… well…’ he gestured to his face.

‘Oh. Of course,’ Saira said.

‘You?’ Hamid asked.

‘No,’ Saira said, ‘I’ve been busy with the business. You know how it is.’

They didn’t talk much after that.

The tasting menu at Claridge’s was, as always, delicious, but the food turned to dust in Hamid’s mouth. For once, he wished Wilde were there, to tell him what to do – or at least to sort the whole situation out with a click of his delicate, manicured fingernails, as he seemed to do with other problems. But there was no Wilde to save him this time, and Hamid spent the rest of the meal trying to think of a way out of the corner Saira was determined to paint him into.

After dessert, and during the coffee, Hamid gave it one last shot.

‘Saira… I don’t know anything about running a bank.’

‘You went to university for mathematics,’ she said, raising a delicately shaped eyebrow.

‘Yes, and I didn’t finish!’

‘Look, Hamid,’ she said, heaving a great sigh and setting down her tiny coffee cup. ‘You won’t really need to _do_ anything. Just… be a presence. Head the meetings, listen to the board’s thoughts and plans. Give them encouraging nods. You just need to be seen to be there. We can’t have our London branch thinking the family doesn’t care about them.’

‘Why? They seemed to manage well enough before.’

‘The break-in shook them all up, you see,’ Saira said, rolling her eyes. ‘I’ve hired extra security, and brought in experts to improve our alarm systems, but they want more. From what I can tell, they feel cast by the wayside. You need to get involved and show them that the al Tahan family hears their call and cares about them.’

‘When was this break-in?’ Hamid asked, thinking back. It had been at least a month since Zolf and Sasha had been hiding in his house, and they had been in jail for a week or so before he broke them out. Why was it now that Saira decided to drop this bombshell on him?

‘Oh, a little while ago, now,’ Saira admitted. ‘But the board kept bothering me until I came to visit them in person. It’s the only reason I came to London – do you know, they threatened to shut down the bank! For a whole day!’

‘They really want your attention,’ Hamid said, gloomily.

‘Yes. And a flying visit won’t be enough to placate them. Which is why I promised I would leave a family member in my place to act as a go-between,’ Saira said. ‘Hamid, you’re the only option.’

Hamid knew this. Not only was he the only al Tahan actually in London, his older brother was not exactly business-oriented, and the twins were still much too young. Their parents were off enjoying their retirement. Hamid was quite literally the only choice.

‘They’re going to hate me,’ he said, sulkily. ‘I don’t know anything about banking.’

‘You know about numbers, and you’re smart, and you learn fast,’ Saira said, sharply. ‘And you’re an al Tahan, so you should automatically hold some sway. Buck up, Hamid – you’ll do fine. The family is depending on you.’

Hamid didn’t want the family to depend on him. He wanted to spend his days relaxing in his flat, reading books with Zolf and letting Sasha teach him how to palm cards, and teaching Sasha how to count them.

‘Yes, Saira,’ he said, miserably.

Back at his flat, when he broke the bad news to Zolf and Sasha, neither seemed to find it as bad as he did.

‘Surely this is a good thing?’ Sasha said. ‘Or at least, not a bad one. You definitely won’t be under suspicion for harbouring bank robbers if you’re in charge of the bank.’

Zolf frowned down at him. 

‘What’s wrong, Hamid?’

Hamid didn’t know how to answer that question. 

‘It’s not exactly lying low, though, is it,’ he pointed out. ‘Which is what Wilde told me to do.’

‘if they’re watching you, maybe bank business will bore them enough to stop,’ Sasha offered.

Unhappy that his new friends weren’t as sympathetic as he wanted them to be, Hamid went to bed early, claiming a headache. He wasn’t lying – stress was building a slow, hot ball of pain in his temples and he massaged them as he stared at his undisguised face in the mirror. The scales were smooth and warm beneath his hands, and he flinched as he saw his eyes turn a little bit more yellow. 

Casinos and clubs were generally very dark inside, to trick customers into spending more time there than they meant to. They were also full of drunks. No one looked very closely at anyone else, too busy being wrapped up in their own business of losing their inherited money as fast as possible.

Banks, though. Banks were brightly lit. Banks were full of eyes, watching everyone. Banks were dangerous. And even a figurehead would be the centre of attention.

He should have told Saira how bad it was getting. He should have told his parents. He’d not wanted to worry them. He’d never thought he’d have to go and work at the family business. He had been naively hoping that the scales would start to go away, if he left them alone.

But the scales were spreading further. They’d crested his shoulders and started to crawl down his spine. His upper arms were flaking, the skin starting to slough off and reveal dull brass underneath.

Hamid took deep, measuring breaths, put the locket back around his neck, and went to bed.

*

Hamid miserably took himself to work on the following Monday morning. He was greeted at the huge doors of the bank by a clerk with clothes so starched they could stand up on their own, and he was led past the small group of guards, through the entrance and into the bank proper.

His office turned out to be very large, full of bookshelves, and had a large mahogany desk with an inlaid green leather top. 

‘Your first meeting is at eleven, with the board,’ the clerk said, his voice high and nasal. He was a human, and therefore much taller than Hamid, but Hamid got the distinct impression he was being looked down on in more ways than one. 

‘Thank you,’ Hamid said, but the clerk had already turned sharply on his shining heel and strode stiffly from the room.

On closer inspection, the books on the bookshelves were all hollow sleeves. The desk drawers – even the locked one at the bottom with the secret compartment inside that Hamid needed to acid splash a few times to get open – were empty.

The carriage clock on the mantlepiece told Hamid it was twenty past nine. He was already bored to tears.

The time passed, eventually, and Hamid found himself sitting in his seat in the empty meeting room, much too early. When the first members of the board walked through the doors, they paused mid-conversation, as though surprised to see him.

Hamid put on his most charming smile.

Saira had been right – he had to do very little in the meeting except listen to the board members discuss the day-to-day running of the bank. Profits, loans, interest rates, and wages flowed over Hamid like water, and he smiled and nodded throughout. 

After the meeting, when everyone had left the room, Hamid turned himself invisible and followed them out, down the stairs to their own offices.

His governess always used to say that those who eavesdropped never heard good of themselves, and Hamid had always found that to be true. It was no different with the bankers.

Hamid drifted around, invisible, until the end of the day. Then he reappeared in his office, put on his coat and his gloves, and left the bank with the rest of the nine to five lot.

‘They hate me,’ he moaned, back at his flat.

‘How d’you know?’ Sasha asked, intrigued, hanging on the side of the sofa.

‘I heard them,’ Hamid said, miserably. ‘They think I’m a spoilt, idiot, trust-fund kid that Saira dumped on them to give me gainful employment.’

‘I mean,’ Zolf said, slowly, ‘that is the image you project to the rest of the world. I thought that was the point?’

‘Well, yes,’ Hamid sniffed, ‘but it’s not – they’re never going to take me seriously.’

‘That’s a good thing.’ Zolf sat beside him and patted his arm soothingly. ‘If they took you seriously, they might realise what you’re actually capable, and then Sasha and I’d be in a whole load of trouble.’

Hamid sniffed again. 

‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘I just don’t want to keep going to that bank just to… to sit there, and be talked at, and talked about.’

‘Well, here. Take this.’ Zolf dropped a book in Hamid’s lap.

‘What’s this?’

‘Homework,’ Zolf said. ‘Or, rather, bank work. Read this tomorrow, and we can discuss it when you get back. It’ll give you something to do.’

‘Is-‘

‘It’s not Campbell,’ Zolf said, rolling his eyes. ‘I’m not _that_ sadistic.’

‘Thank you.’ Hamid picked up the book. It was one of his – he recognised it from his shelves, though he had never read it. No doubt Liliana had bought it, and then left it behind in her haste to leave him. She had left a lot behind her, and Hamid had never bothered to get rid of it all. The book was actually a play – the cover was clean red leather with gold embossed writing.

‘I’ve already read it,’ Zolf said. 

Hamid nodded.

‘I’ll do it,’ he promised. ‘Thanks, Zolf. Really.’

Zolf’s face took on a rosy hue.

*

Edward Keystone sat in his small, sparse bedroom feeling disconsolately lonely. The room was little more than a cupboard with a single bed, a sink, a wardrobe, a small writing desk, and an armour stand. His armour gleamed on the stand, and the room was sharply clean. He could have bounced a coin off his bedspread, if he so chose.

He ran a whetstone over his sword and sighed. As the son of the Duke of York he was given his own room, which was a luxury for a brand-new paladin of Apollo, but he wished he’d been put in the busy dorm rooms with the other new paladins at the temple. At least then he would have had someone to talk to. 

He was having a very bad few months.

After the whole business with Hannibal’s tomb in the alps, he’d gone on to complete his pilgrimage to Rome – only getting a little lost – and returned to England with a big empty feeling in his chest. Friedrich had promptly dumped him at the main temple of Apollo in London and left to go and take care of what Ed was sure was very important Apollo business, but Ed felt… adrift.

He’d built himself up for the pilgrimage for so long that now it was over, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d expected it to be a big, life-changing moment – that he would return to England with complete and utter faith in his life and his purpose. But Rome had been empty, scorchingly hot and bitterly cold and desolate, and he hadn’t been able to feel Apollo’s love at all. He’d been alone, for the first time in his life. And it had left him more confused than before.

Alone in the London temple, with Friedrich gone and no long-term goal, Ed was at a loss. He had signed up for simple duties – he was self-aware enough to know he was not destined for the upper echelons of the temple and wouldn’t want to be besides. He preferred fighting with the might of Apollo than sitting down and doing the god’s paperwork. 

His first job was as a guard at a local bank. It was an ok position – close enough to the temple that it wasn’t too long a walk, and the others stationed there – some paladins of Apollo, some of Artemis, a few of Ares – were nice enough, though none really bothered to talk to Ed much. But it was work, and Ed liked to feel useful.

His second week on the job, and they had a break-in. Ed himself had missed most of it, as he had been stationed at the front of the bank, and the thieves had broken in through adjoining cellars. The bank had dismissed all the guards who had been on duty at the time, as the only reason the perpetrators were caught had been an anonymous warning telegrammed to a few of the bank directors. So, Ed had found himself out of a job.

The temple assigned him to their own jail, after that, guarding among others the prisoners caught in the bank vault. Ed didn’t mind guard duty, although he didn’t know many of the others and again, none of them made the effort to talk to him.

And then the bank robbers escaped from the temple jail, right under the guards’ noses. Ed had been in the breakroom when it happened, drinking tea and sitting outside of a small group of paladins all discussing their weekend plans. There had been a sudden shiver down his spine, and he’d charged out of the break room door, only to see an empty corridor.

He’d been taken off guard duty after that night, along with the rest of them. Now he was in limbo, waiting for reassignment. 

Ed missed the simple days with Friedrich, when he had a plain, obvious goal. He even missed the excitement of his adventure with Sir Bertrand and Tjelvar, even though he didn’t miss the snow and the bitter cold of the alps.

He sat down at his desk and pulled out some thick cream writing paper. He scribbled out the York crest printed on the paper, and dipped his pen back in the ink. And then he paused.

He had been going to write to Friedrich, but even as he started to write he realised that he had nothing he wanted to write. He had nothing to say that wasn’t about his failures, and he doubted Friedrich would care. He’d been very anxious to drop him off at the London temple once their quest was complete and hadn’t looked back when he left.

To be honest, Ed didn’t really miss him either.

Ed sat for a few minutes, pen hovering over the fancy paper. He ran through everyone he knew. His father would be too busy to read letters from any of his spares, and his brothers were all busy and scattered across the world, and probably not in places where there was regular post. He didn’t really have any friends from his paladin training – being constantly babysat by Friedrich meant he couldn’t really spend time with the other recruits, and somehow everyone seemed to guess who his family was, even when he didn’t tell them.

Ed thought about the last time he was really, truly happy. It had been on his short adventure through the alps, in the cold snow, searching for Hannibal’s tomb. He had heard Apollo and sat in his warm light and found the entrance to the tomb. Tjelvar and Bertie had been so happy, and so impressed with him. Even if he then got transported somewhere hot and met some strange queen and didn’t actually manage to get into the tomb itself, Ed still counted that as a victory. He had helped. He had been useful.

He considered writing to Sir Bertrand, but he hadn’t been sure he’d liked him very much. There had been something dark hidden behind his bluster, something the light of Apollo couldn’t reach.

His thoughts turned to Tjelvar, and suddenly the idea of writing a letter felt more appealing. Ed had _liked_ Tjelvar. Ed was used to being treated like an idiot, and being talked down to – when he noticed, anyway – but Tjelvar had been unusually kind. He’d treated Ed like a colleague and answered almost all of Ed’s questions – and not only that but had been happy to do so and hadn’t treated Ed like some annoying child. Tjelvar had been good at explaining things, too. He made archaeology and history sound interesting.

He also – Eddie remembered – took Hannibal’s crown back to Cambridge with Sir Bertrand, after Ed and Fredrich carried onwards to Rome. Ed wondered if Tjelvar got the funding he’d needed for more research into Hannibal’s life and works.

Then he realised he could write the letter and find out.

His tongue out, pen gripped firmly in his large hands, Edward began to write.

‘Dear Tjelvar,’ he began. Then he paused. Would the ‘dear’ sound too strange? They’d spent a few days together, but they’d only met the once. 

Then he shook himself. If he overthought every single word of the letter, he’d never finish it.

‘Dear Tjelvar,’ he continued. ‘This is Eddie. I thought I would write to you to see how you are, and if you managed to get that research funding you wanted. I’m sure with Hannibal’s crown they couldn’t say no!

‘My pilgrimage to Rome was easier than I expected. I’m back in London now, working for the temple of Apollo there. I’ve had a few postings, but none of them have really worked out. Friedrich has gone back north for important Apollo business. 

‘I was remembering our talks about archaeology today. I thought it was very interesting and I wondered if you know of any good books about it. I have my own room at the temple, which is nice, but I have a lot of free time and the others in the group dorms don’t often come around to see me.’

The words, which had flowed so freely until that point, dried up. Ed chewed the end of his pen thoughtfully, as he decided how to end his letter.

‘I hope you are doing well. Your friend, Edward Keystone.’

Then he crossed out the Edward and wrote ‘Eddie’ instead. He had liked it when Tjelvar had called him Eddie. It made him feel like they were friends.

Pleased with his creation, Edward folded up the paper and slid it into an envelope. Then he marched out into the street to post it as soon as possible, already excited about the prospect of a reply.

*

The nights were drawing in as Winter Solstice approached, and Tjelvar often found himself walking back to his college in the dark after teaching was over. The porter was never particularly pleased to see him, though he never had been – Tjelvar optimistically marked that down to his own frequent comings and goings rather than any dislike for orcs the porter may have harboured. Orcs were an uncommon sight in Cambridge even outside of the university, and though Tjelvar was the not exactly the stereotypical orc shape, he was still comfortably over six foot and sporting good-sized tusks. In an old town with tiny wooden doorframes and populated mainly by humans and the odd tall, willowy elf, Tjelvar felt large and ungainly, and the scar across his mouth attracted blatant stares.

The last time he’d felt normal had been in the alps with Edward and Bertrand. Though they’d both been humans, they’d all been of a height, and Ed and Bertie had been broad enough to make Tjelvar look like the scrawny academic he was at heart.

In Cambridge, especially at the front of lecture halls, Tjelvar stuck out like a sore thumb.

As a new teacher – after his find in the alps, he’d been given a full-time contract at the university, though as a junior staff member, he was given the bulk of undergraduate teaching – Tjelvar was out and about at all hours. He didn’t really like teaching – he loved his subject, but he loved it more when he was solving ancient puzzles in the freezing mountains. Not when he had over a hundred essays to mark, each as unoriginal as the first.

He nodded at the porter despite the hostility. The porter awkwardly inclined his head back. Tjelvar was halfway across the quad when the porter called after him.

‘Oh, Mr Stornsnasson!’

The porter made no attempt to follow him, so Tjelvar awkwardly jogged the short distance back.

‘Yes?’ he asked, confused.

‘You have a letter here. From the household of the Duke of York.’ The porter handed it over delicately, frowning, as though it were beyond belief that Tjelvar might have friends in high places. The letter itself was in a heavy cream envelope, and though the crest had been scribbled over with ink it had been embossed into the paper and was still very visible.

Tjelvar himself was pretty stumped until he saw the handwriting. The letters were large and careful, written by someone who had a good education in their youth but did not often practice writing, or indeed have the skill to match their education. The paper was also heavily smudged, as though the writer had rubbed their hands across the drying ink without realising and then tried to clean it off.

‘Thank you,’ Tjelvar said absently to the porter as he stared at the letter. The porter was clearly desperate to know why Tjelvar merited personal correspondence from the house of the Duke of York, but Tjelvar was quite happy to let the man stew in his ignorance. He tucked the letter into his coat pocket, smiled at the porter, and hurried off to his rooms.

Once inside his tiny room, a small fire lit and a lamp turned up bright, Tjelvar used the nearest sharp object – the head of an arrow from his quiver, hanging on the back of his door – and cut open the envelope. The writing on the inside was the same as the outside – large, careful, and deliberate.

It was Eddie, writing to tell him that he’d made it back from Rome – it amused Tjelvar that the magnitude of such an experience seemed rather lost on Edward Keystone – and that he was now a full paladin of Apollo. In London, too, which wasn’t all that far away from Cambridge.

Tjelvar also felt, from the tone of the letter, that Eddie was incredibly lonely. 

It was that thought that led him to pulling out some of his own paper – not as thick and creamy, nor embossed with a family crest – to write a response straight away.

‘Dear Eddie,’ he began. ‘I’m glad you made it back from Rome in one piece. I’ve heard it can be very dangerous! I’m sorry to hear that none of your positions have worked out yet – these things take time. I’m sure you’ll settle in eventually.

‘I do indeed have the funding I need, though first I have a contract with the university to teach the students for a term. I’m glad you, at least, think I make archaeology sound interesting – I think my students would disagree!’

Tjelvar paused, then, as he decided what to write next. Eddie had said he was between postings, and apart from busy teaching schedule, Tjelvar very rarely went out socialising. It would be nice to see a friendly face.

‘Why don’t you come and visit me here, in Cambridge?’ he wrote, before he could change his mind. ‘I’m sure you’d like to see the exhibition of the circlet of command, since you helped discover it. I’m planning another trip to the alps for after Winter Solstice, when the days get a little longer, but other than that I am free when I’m not teaching to show you around Cambridge.’

He took a breath, reread his letter, and wondered whether he sounded too desperate. Then he remembered he was writing to Edward, who would not understand subtlety, and continued with his letter.

‘I would be very happy to see you again and get a chance to catch up in person.’

He debated for a long while how to sign off his letter, but eventually kept it the same as Ed’s;

‘Your friend, Tjelvar Stornsnasson.’

He gave the letter, sealed in an envelope, to the porter that evening, the name ‘Edward Keystone, Temple of Apollo, London,’ emblazoned on the front. He went back to his rooms, smug at the look on the porter’s face

*

Hamid’s first week at the bank consisted mainly of smiling and nodding in meetings and hiding in his office reading the book of the day that Zolf had pressed into his hands before he left in the morning. It passed the time, even though he still hated being there. The board members, the clerks, and even the cashiers treated him as little more than a figurehead and either ignored him or genuflected so viciously that Hamid avoided them.

It was also the week when he was attacked on his walk home from the bank.

Hamid didn’t think it was anything to do with the meritocrats, or his secret, even If he hadn’t exactly been lying low as Wilde had instructed him to do. It had just been a typical gang of thugs who had seen opportunity in a halfling in expensive clothes walking through London’s streets after dark.

Unfortunately for them, Hamid wasn’t a normal halfling. Though they got the jump on Hamid and one of the thugs managed to get a shallow cut on Hamid’s arm, a few judicious magic missiles and some magically amplified yelling later and the thugs that were still standing managed to flee directly into the arms of some nearby paladins of Artemis. Once they had turned up, Hamid had directed them to the unconscious bodies of the thugs he’d missile’d, gave a quick statement, and had hurried the rest of the way home.

Zolf and Sasha had been alarmed by the blood, but Hamid had quickly assured them that he had been fine. It had actually been rather exciting – a break in the monotony at the bank.

Two deathly boring weeks at the bank later, and Hamid’s sister broke yet another unhappy surprise to Hamid, only this time she did so via telegram as she had long since gone back to Cairo. Hamid received the telegram on the Saturday morning he had chosen to sleep in, and so he had to answer his front door in his robe while Sasha and Zolf hid in the guest bedroom and stayed very quiet.

The telegram was brief and to the point.

‘Hamid. Father and Mother agree with me – after last week’s incident, you need extra security. Go to the bank for noon this Sunday to meet your new chaperones.’

Hamid had collapsed, rather dramatically, onto the sofa and moaned. He didn’t know how his family had found out about the attempted mugging – he assumed Wilde, who had a finger in every pie and no doubt had an informant in every temple – but he wasn’t happy about it.

‘This is just getting _worse_.’

‘I don’t know, Hamid,’ Sasha said, shrugging. ‘It was a bit of a close call.’

‘Yeah,’ Zolf said, sounding very grave. ‘You almost died.’

Hamid would have been fine even without the paladins coming to his rescue. He knew that. But he also would have had to reveal his darkest secret, and that might have got him killed regardless, so he knew he had no leg to stand on. But the thought of two stalwart companions tracking his every movement sounded like a bad idea with two fugitives hiding in his flat.

‘I’ll have to make sure they don’t ever come inside,’ Hamid said. ‘Make sure they know that I like my privacy. I’ll need to talk to Saira about it.’

‘How?’ Zolf asked. ‘You’re meeting them tomorrow. Even if you send a telegram now, you won’t hear back for at least two days.’

‘We have certain plans. For emergencies,’ Hamid said. ‘This is definitely an emergency.’

Zolf and Sasha watched, bemused, as Hamid pushed the coffee table against the fireplace and clambered on top of it.

‘Why are you doing that?’ Sasha asked, her tone sounding like she thought Hamid had finally gone fully around the bend.

‘I can’t reach unless I stand on the table,’ Hamid explained, as he reached up and slid the mirror above the mantlepiece to one side. It revealed a small safe – Hamid entered his code and the door swung open silently, the heavy adamantine door resting on perfectly balanced hinges.

It revealed a small cloth bag. In it, nestled in precious stones (good for a quick getaway – lighter and worth more than their weight in gold, after all) a small obsidian stone.

‘This is a mobile stone,’ Hamid said, cupping it reverently in his palms. ‘My sister has the corresponding partner stone. Right – be absolutely silent for a second,’ he warned, before he tapped the stone twice and said the activation word.

‘Aziza.’

The stone glowed – Hamid knew that its twin, sitting in the safe in Saira’s office – would be lighting up and resonating. It took Saira less than two minutes to respond.

‘Hamid?’ she shouted through the stone, panicked. ‘Are you ok? What’s happened?’

‘Saira,’ Hamid said, firmly, ‘you _can’t_ give me bodyguards. What if they – find out?’

Hamid ignored the confused looks on Zolf and Sasha’s faces and focused hard on the stone in his hands. On the other side, Saira let out a long, deep sigh.

‘Hamid,’ she chided. ‘I thought you were in danger!’

‘I am,’ he insisted. ‘If you let them give me bodyguards!’

‘Look,’ she said, ‘I – I don’t understand. I thought you said it was better, now?’

‘No, _you_ said it was better,’ Hamid replied, mulishly. ‘I just didn’t correct you. But it’s not. It’s worse. They can’t – no one can see, Saira. Or it’ll get out, and…’ Hamid took a deep breath. ‘And what happened to Aziza will happen to me,’ he finished. From across the room, he heard Zolf’s sharp intake of breath, and he held in a wince.

‘Alright,’ Saira said. She sounded tired. ‘Hamid, I’ll let them know that they can’t be with you in your flat. Just outside.’

‘Outside the _building_ ,’ Hamid insisted.

‘Fine. Outside the building,’ Saira agreed. ‘Now. Is that everything?’

‘Yes,’ Hamid said, in a small voice.

‘Well, then. I’ll send an urgent message. I’m sure there are clerics still up and working around here who can send messages.’

‘Thanks,’ Hamid said.

‘Look after yourself,’ Saira said, gently. ‘And let me know, ok? If it gets worse.’

It was already worse, and getting worse still, but Saira sounded so tired that Hamid couldn’t bring himself to say anything more.

‘Ok,’ he said. ‘Goodnight, Saira.’

‘I love you,’ she said, and the stone’s light went out.

There was silence, for a short time, as Hamid replaced the stone carefully into his safe and slid the mirror back across to hide it. Zolf and Sasha came to help him move the table once he’d clambered off, and Zolf shot him a loaded glance. Hamid looked away.

‘Well, problem sorted.’ Hamid smiled weakly. ‘They’ll stay outside the building. No danger to you two.’

Zolf furrowed his brow.

‘How much of that was a lie, Hamid?’ he asked, softly.

Hamid shrugged. 

‘As much as was needed,’ he said evasively. ‘Zolf – I’m tired. Goodnight. Goodnight, Sasha.’

‘Night, Hamid,’ Sasha said, nodding.

In his bedroom, alone, Hamid finally relaxed.

It took him hours to fall asleep – thoughts whirled around his head, thoughts about the bodyguards he would meet the next day, thoughts about Sasha and Zolf. He oscillated between wanting to tell them – to _show_ them – and wanting to stay hidden for as long as possible. They would forget, anyway, when Wilde came for them. But Hamid, as much as he liked them, didn’t know just how much he could trust them. He had to leave every weekday for the bank – they could leave his flat at any time. They would offer his secret over to the meritocrats in return for their freedom, if they so chose.

With that awful thought buzzing around his skull, Hamid fell into an uneasy sleep.

*

The next day found him walking the streets towards the bank, even though it was a Sunday. The air was bitterly cold, as the season slid faster from autumn to winter, and Hamid had forgotten his gloves. He tucked his hands into his pockets, ducked his face into his scarf, and forged onwards.

A clerk with a long-suffering expression was waiting for him outside of the grand double doors.

‘Your sister insisted we open for a short time today,’ he said to Hamid, as though it were Hamid’s fault he also had to come into work on a Sunday. ‘Your new hires are in your office.’

‘Thank you,’ Hamid said, handing the clerk a few coins. ‘For the extra hours.’

The clerk said nothing and did not smile, but took the coins without argument, and Hamid thought he felt some softening in his forbidding demeanour.

‘I’ll wait for you to come back out, and then I’ll lock up after you,’ the clerk informed him, and so Hamid hurried off to his office, to get the whole business over and done with as fast as possible.

He swung open his office door and was immediately assaulted by the impression of pink. Lots of pink. Bright, sparkling pink.

‘Ah,’ said a small, high voice, from below even Hamid’s eyeline. ‘You must be the al Tahan.’

‘Hamid,’ Hamid said, still dazed by the apparent glowing wall of pink that had been curiously inspecting his bookshelves. ‘I, uh, - they’re all fake,’ he said, apologetically. The wall of pink drew closer, and Hamid looked further up to see that it had a face. A face adorned with a smile almost as bright as the pink.

‘Hello, Hamid,’ said the smiling face, ‘my name is Azu.’

‘Paladin of Aphrodite, I assume?’ Hamid said, weakly, as Azu’s much larger hand closed around his and shook enthusiastically.

‘How did you guess?’ said the high voice, sarcastically. Once Hamid’s eyes had grown accustomed to the brightness of Azu’s pink armour, he realised that there was another paladin, this one in forest green, who was even smaller than Hamid. It was a goblin, Hamid realised. One didn’t see many goblins in public – they mainly kept themselves to themselves. This particular goblin was staring up at Hamid with bright red eyes, set in a grey-skinned face. Hamid had the distinct impression he was being sized up. ‘Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam,’ Grizzop said, also shaking Hamid’s hand. ‘At your service.’

‘So… you’re to be my guards,’ Hamid said.

‘Yes,’ Azu beamed. ‘Don’t worry, Hamid. We’ll keep you safe.’

‘I’m sure you will.’ Hamid gave them a timid smile. Azu’s beam almost knocked him off his feet, and Grizzop’s mouth opened enough to reveal lots of sharp, needle-thin teeth.

‘Right,’ Grizzop said, clapping his hands together. ‘Off we go.’

*

While Ed waited for his next posting, the temple had put him on door duty at the temple. He liked it well enough – all he had to do was smile at people who entered the temple and hand them some pamphlets about Apollo. Ed liked people, and liked sharing the stories of Apollo he’d loved so much as a child. But it was cold, standing on the steps, and his armour didn’t do much to keep off the rain. It also got a little annoying when groups of people – mainly young, always whispering and giggling – would gather on the other side of the street to the temple, and whenever Ed tried to go over and give them pamphlets they all squealed at him and ran away. But they always would come back, every few hours or so, and just watch him.

Ed just wished some of them would take a pamphlet.

On one particularly miserable day, when even the giggling crowd was thin on the ground, Ed had just been getting somewhat dispirited and had been pondering whether or not to have a little sing song to cheer himself up, when a loud, stern voice called his name from the temple doors.

‘Keystone?’

‘Yes – that’s me,’ he said, hurrying over, the wet mass of pamphlets flapping about in his hands.

It was one of the clerics – he raised an eyebrow at Edward’s bedraggled state before inclining his head.

‘You’ve got post.’

‘Oh.’ Ed subsided a little. He never got post, and for a second he assumed it was pater, letting him know how disappointing a son he was. But then a memory clicked in his head – his letter to Tjelvar. He’d sent it only a few days previously – he couldn’t already have a reply, could he?

He followed the cleric into the temple proper and to the offices at the back, dripping rain all over the clean tiled floors. The cleric raised a brow but didn’t complain, though he did usher Ed away once he’d handed the letter over.

‘Take your break, now,’ the cleric advised. ‘Then you can go on clean-up duty.’

‘Yes, I will,’ Ed agreed affably, mind already distracted by the letter. He hurried off to his tiny bedroom, only stopping to apologise when he bumped into other servants of Apollo in the tiny corridors. Once in his dark room, he lit a candle and used the end of his sword to slice open the envelope. His wet hands had smudged the writing a little, but Tjelvar’s handwriting was clear and precise.

Ed felt a warm glow suffuse his chest, not unlike the glow Apollo inspired. Not only had Tjelvar written back, he considered them friends! And he wanted Ed to visit him in Cambridge! Ed carefully folded the letter back up and slid it under his pillow – his desk had no draws, and he wanted the letter to be safe – before hurrying back to the cleric’s office, still dripping rain from outside.

The cleric did not look pleased to see him.

‘I’d like to take a week’s leave, please,’ Ed said, a little breathlessly. ‘I haven’t got a posting at the moment, so it’s a good time.’

The cleric raised an eyebrow before flicking through some files. Then they looked up.

‘Of course, Mr Keystone. And when would you like this week’s leave?’

Ed thought hard for a minute. If he sent Tjelvar a letter today, it would no doubt arrive in Cambridge by the Wednesday. That should give Tjelvar plenty of time to prepare for Ed’s arrival on the Saturday.

‘Next week,’ Ed said, happily. ‘I’m going to visit my friend in Cambridge,’ he told the cleric, excitedly. ‘He’s a very important archaeologist, you see, and he wants me to see his exhibition.’

‘I see,’ said the cleric, though he didn’t look very interested. Ed didn’t care – he was already mentally writing his next letter to Tjelvar. 

It was nice to have a friend.

*

It was unusual that Hamid was disturbed in his office during the day, especially once the weekly meeting was over. He still spent most of the time reading the books Zolf supplied him with, though now he also played card games or chess with Azu and Grizzop. He leant Azu some romance novels and was amused by how much she seemed to love them – though as she was a paladin of Aphrodite, maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Grizzop wasn’t as much of a reader, though he had a brilliant poker face and often cleaned Azu and Hamid out of the matchsticks they played with.

‘You really don’t do much round here, do you,’ he said, sharp as ever, the second week he and Azu started following Hamid around everywhere. Hamid just shrugged.

‘I’m basically a figurehead,’ he said, staring at his cards with a furrowed brow. He had a very bad hand. ‘They don’t want me to be here except to show that the al Tahan family is heavily invested in the welfare of the bank. I’m just here to stroke their egos.’

‘It’s boring,’ Grizzop said. ‘No offence.’

‘It is horribly boring,’ Hamid agreed. ‘Though it’s been less so since you guys turned up.’

‘You can thank your sister for that,’ Azu said, genially. She patted Hamid’s small hand with her much larger one. ‘But we like spending time with you, too.’ 

An hour and two games later – both of which Grizzop won – there was a gentle knock at the door. Hamid quickly scrabbled to sit behind his desk and tried to look like he was reading paperwork, while Azu and Grizzop stood either side of him and assumed varied threatening positions. 

Hamid cleared his throat. ‘Come in!’ he called.

One of the many clerks in their severe uniforms opened the heavy wooden door a small crack and poked his head through. 

‘Sir?’

‘Come in,’ Hamid repeated. 

The clerk sidled through the small gap in the door rather than open it any further.

‘You’re needed down in the vaults. Sir,’ said the clerk. He had a young, full face, and was sweating profusely – Hamid guessed that he’d lost a bet downstairs and had been forced to fetch the big boss.

‘When?’ Hamid asked, disinterestedly.

‘Um… now, Sir.’

‘Right,’ Hamid said, standing up from his chair. ‘Come on then Grizzop, Azu. I’m _needed_ downstairs, apparently.’

The clerk visibly gulped.

‘Why’s he so scared of you?’ Grizzop stage-whispered into Hamid’s ear as they walked down the large marble staircase to the bank’s huge foyer.

‘I may be a figurehead,’ Hamid said, ‘but I can still hire and fire people. My name’s on the bank’s deeds. And they all know it. That’s why they aren’t rude to my face.’

Grizzop whistled through his teeth. ‘That’s a raw deal.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Hamid sighed.

The nervous clerk was waiting outside the thick iron bars that stood in front of the stairs down to the vaults, next to an older clerk holding a comically large ring of keys.

‘We’re doing the monthly check of your family vault,’ the older clerk said, looking down along his nose at Hamid. ‘We thought that, since you’re now more… actively involved with the running of the bank,’ he said, with a sneer, ‘you might want to accompany us.’

There was something about this that rang hollow to Hamid, but he wasn’t sure how much of that was his own wariness or the clerk’s clear and strong dislike for him.

‘Thank you,’ he said, warily. 

The clerk searched through his large key chain before making a grand show of selecting a key and sliding it into the keyhole. The bar doors swung open silently, and the clerk beckoned them all to follow him down the stairs and into the vaults proper.

Hamid could vaguely remember visiting the vaults at the bank in Cairo with his father, when he had been a little boy and still interested in the bank. The London vaults were similar, but the walls were dark hewn stone rather than polished white, and there was a strong smell of damp. Hamid tried not to breathe it in and held on grimly to his poker face; Grizzop, beside him, failed and pulled a face.

‘These tunnels run under the river Thames, so as to prevent tunnelling in from one side. Of course, in recent events, there were those who did tunnel in from the north side. Luckily we were forewarned of their plans before they could take anything.’ The clerk sniffed disdainfully, and Hamid thought of Zolf and Sasha, safe in his flat. He wondered who turned them in – wondered if this clerk knew who the informant had been.

‘Do we know the identity of the kind soul who forewarned us?’ Hamid asked, trying to sound as blasé as he could manage. ‘They sound like they deserve a reward.’

‘It was an anonymous source,’ the clerk said smoothly, not looking behind him.

Hamid thought that was a little fishy but didn’t want to push his luck, and so he fell silent. Azu and Grizzop trailed after him. Azu’s armour was lighting up the dark walls in a dusky rose colour.

The al Tahan family vault was right at the end of the long line of vaults that lay beneath the London bank. The clerk paused before the large metal door and searched through his large keychain once more. Grizzop’s eye roll was practically audible.

The heavy metal door swung open silently, just as the barred door had above, and the clerk stepped aside with a flourish.

‘Would you like to check first, Sir?’ he asked, his voice somehow even more plummy and thick than before.

‘Ok,’ Hamid said, taking a step towards the door.

‘Wait!’ Grizzop squeaked, making them all jump. ‘One of us should go first. In case of ambush.’

‘I hardly think there would be an _ambush_ in-‘

‘It’s always in the places you least expect!’ Grizzop shrieked at the clerk. The clerk took a step back, shocked at the vehemence of the tiny goblin.

‘Grizzop, I’m sure it’s fine,’ Hamid began, but he faltered into silence as Azu took the matters into her own hands and stepped into the vault herself.

‘There’s nothing in… here,’ she said, frowning in confusion as the pink light of her armour faded, leaving the vault much darker than before. ‘That’s odd,’ she commented.

‘Interesting,’ Grizzop said, taking a step and a jump to join her. He held up a hand and a very underwhelming nothing happened. ‘Are these vaults protected by anti-magic wards, by any chance?’ he asked the clerk. The clerk shuffled his shoulders like a flustered duck.

‘I can only assume so,’ he said, ‘as part of their many protections.’

Hamid’s stomach swooped, and he desperately wanted to throw up. If he’d walked into that vault, the anti-magic wards would have stripped him of the disguise provided by the locket, and he would have been on display as the… monster he was turning into. Everyone down in the tunnels would have known his secret. It wouldn’t have stayed a secret for long.

He took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm his racing heart and wiped his suddenly clammy hands on the lining of his coat. One hand went to clutch his locket reflexively. He caught Grizzop’s eye as the goblin climbed back out of the vault. Grizzop winked. Hamid didn’t have time to dissect that, and instead cast around for excuses not to get in that vault and escape out of this thrice-cursed bank.

‘I don’t think I have time for this after all,’ Hamid said, his voice coming out stronger than he felt. ‘I’m terribly sorry, I’ve just remembered an urgent meeting.’

‘A meeting?’ The clerk’s eyebrows were so high they looked like they might fly off his forehead. ‘With whom?’

Hamid was tempted to say it was none of his business, but then he remembered he was supposed to be the inoffensive al Tahan spoilt child, and swallowed down his anger.

‘With Sir MacGuffingham,’ Hamid said, in the most uptight voice he could manage, ‘at the club. Come on, Azu, Grizzop. We should have left ten minutes ago.’

He turned on his heel and stalked off, not looking back, even though he wanted to.

He didn’t go to the club – instead, he flagged down a carriage and took Azu and Grizzop for a ride around the busiest parts of London, the places thick with tourists, so as to lose any possible tails, before returning to his flat.

‘I assume you two know, then,’ Hamid said, tiredly, turning to face his bodyguards as he reached the front door of the building.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ Grizzop said. ‘Not the details, mind, but your sister and Wilde thought that it would be better that we were aware of any dangers like the one we just avoided. Good thinking, by the way, I wasn’t sure how we’d get you out of there without causing a fuss.’

‘Don’t worry, Hamid,’ Azu said. ‘We’ve both sworn an oath along with our oaths to our gods. We will keep you safe.’

Hamid realised that Saira had played it very well – Paladins were incorruptible, and these two specific paladins were certainly unique.

‘Thank you,’ he sighed. ‘Well, then, since you know my darkest secret, you might as well know my other, slightly less dark one. One Saira doesn’t know, either – so you must swear not to tell here.’

‘We’re technically working for you, now,’ Grizzop pointed out. ‘We don’t need to report to her at all.’

‘Good.’ Hamid took a breath. ‘Well, come on in, then.’

He led them up the stairs and to the top floor flat. To his complete unsurprise, the flat appeared empty when he opened the door. He gestured for Azu and Grizzop to follow him in, and as he locked the door behind them he called out to the room at large.

‘It’s ok, guys. You can come out. I trust them.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ Zolf’s voice called from behind the guest bedroom door.

‘They just saved my life,’ Hamid explained, heavily. ‘I highly doubt they’ll turn me in.’

There was a deep sigh, and then the door swung open and Zolf stomped out. He leant on the nearest sofa and stared hard at Azu and Grizzop. Azu smiled brightly at him. Grizzop – well, it would be more accurate to say that Grizzop bared his teeth rather than smiled, but the thought was there. Zolf just nodded, his face stony.

‘Azu, Grizzop? This is Zolf and… Sasha? Come on, Sasha – it’s safe, I promise,’ Hamid said.

Sasha slunk in from the balcony, a sulky expression on her face.

‘Hello, Sasha,’ Azu boomed cheerfully. 

Sasha sidled closer to Zolf. 

‘Zolf and Sasha are hiding out at my flat until Wilde can get them out of the country,’ Hamid explained to his two bodyguards. ‘They’re the harlequins who broke into the bank.’

‘ _Your_ bank?’ Grizzop squeaked.

‘Yeah.’ Hamid shrugged. ‘I’ve been helping Wilde for a few years, since… since I got ill. And he helps the harlequins.’

Grizzop looked between them all for a second, then mirrored Hamid’s shrug.

‘Makes sense,’ he said.

‘You’re ill?’ Zolf asked, brow furrowed.

‘I’m fine,’ Hamid said, tiredly. ‘But I want to go to bed. It’s been a long day.’

Really, he just wanted to go into his bedroom where no one could see him, to check on how his illness was progressing. He wanted to hide under his bedcovers and cry out the panic and adrenaline he’d stored up from the bank.

‘It’s only midday,’ Sasha pointed out.

‘And we need to talk about that clerk at the bank. The old, snooty one,’ Grizzop said. ‘He was not pleased when you left. I think he was setting a deliberate trap.’

‘He wanted to see if he could reveal your secret, definitely,’ Azu said. ‘And it sounds like he was waiting until you had bodyguards. Maybe he thought we’d report you.’

‘What secret?’ Zolf demanded. ‘What’s going on, Hamid? What haven’t you told us?’

Hamid didn’t need to look at Zolf to know he looked betrayed. He looked at him anyway. Zolf’s expression hurt his heart, and Hamid knew, then, that he had to tell them. Just the thought of taking off his locket made him want to throw up in panic, but he took a few deep breaths and tried to calm himself down.

‘You’re right, Zolf,’ he said, shakily. ‘I haven’t been entirely truthful with you.’

They’ll have their memories wiped by Wilde, anyway, he told himself. And Azu and Grizzop already know. But there was a marked difference between knowing and _seeing_ , and nobody except Hamid had seen the true extent of his condition in over three years.

‘What do you mean, Hamid?’ Sasha asked, now practically hiding behind Zolf, looking extremely uncomfortable. ‘You’re not – dying, are you?’

‘Not… technically,’ Hamid sighed.

He reached up a shaking hand and rummaged beneath his layers of shirt and waistcoat and winter coat, and pulled out the locket. The metal was warm from his skin, and warm from the magic imbued in it. He gripped it tight in his fist, took another deep breath, and then tugged downwards, hard. The clasp popped off, and he felt the shiver up his spine as the spell dissipated from his body.

To everyone’s credit, no one gasped, or said anything at all. The silence felt weighty, but no one recoiled in horror. Hamid could feel his heart going hummingbird fast, and if he could still sweat, he was sure his forehead would be glistening with it. As it was, all they would see would be gleaming brass scales.

‘Hamid…’ Zolf took a step forward.

‘My sister, Aziza – she started to show signs of… of her heritage. In the family we call it the dragon sickness.’ Hamid took another shaky breath, clutching the locket so tight he could feel the hinges cut into his palm. ‘It starts with accidental magic. Powerful magic. Sorcerer magic. And then… the physical effects start to come through.’

‘Your sister…’ Sasha said, slowly. ‘How did they find out about her?’

‘She had barely begun to manifest,’ Hamid said. ‘Just the magic, really. Uncontrollable bursts of fire, in moments of high emotion. The problem was, she had a very public job – she was an opera singer. She set the curtains on fire in a rehearsal, and someone must have reported her to meritocratic agents, I’m not sure… But they killed her during the opening night, in Prague.’

‘I heard about that,’ Grizzop said. ‘I was in Prague at the time. But I thought it was a harlequin terrorist attack?’

‘That’s what official sources said,’ Hamid said. ‘But I was there. I saw…’ A sob hitched in his throat, from nowhere, and he had to stop. He looked down at the carpet and tried to hold back the tears that burnt hot in his eyes. A warm hand rested gently on his back – Hamid looked up to see that Zolf had somehow made it across the room without him noticing. Hamid flinched away from his hand, aware that his scales were on show as well as his lizard-pupiled, yellow eyes. But Zolf didn’t back away, even though his hand slipped off Hamid’s shoulder.

‘Sorry,’ Hamid choked. ‘Sorry, I just – I’d already been hiding my symptoms for a while. I’d always been able to do magic. I just thought I was a really shitty wizard. My hands were starting to turn a little dark around the nail beds, but apart from that – nothing was very different.’ He huffed a wet laugh. ‘When they attacked, I… turned. Into something… something else. And I ran away. I left her.’

He broke down into tears for real, then. Zolf, apparently tired of keep his distance, tugged Hamid into his arms. Hamid tried to get control of himself, but then he felt more warmth as Grizzop and Azu joined in the hug. A hand patted his head awkwardly, human-sized, as Sasha tried to comfort him as best she knew how.

‘Thanks, guys,’ Hamid said, a little later. ‘This is – this is great, and everything, but, uh – I need to breathe.’

‘Oh!’ Zolf said, and they all shuffled backwards.

‘So how did you know they weren’t harlequins?’ Sasha asked, curiously.

‘I woke up human again, curled up on the roof of the opera house, my clothes all burnt and torn,’ Hamid said. ‘I went down to find the auditorium in chaos – on fire, littered with bodies. It was before the authorities came in to clear everything away, and there were a few bodies near Aziza that she must have managed to take down before they… overwhelmed her.’ He looked up at Zolf and Sasha. ‘They didn’t have harlequin rings. And I recognised one of them from the meritocrat agents who would come to our house, occasionally. Ostensibly on meritocrat business, but now I know they must have been checking us all for any irregularities.’

‘Gods,’ Azu breathed. ‘And you have this… dragon sickness? Maybe I can cure you.’

‘But-‘ Hamid started, but Azu had already placed glowing pink hands on his head. The healing magic of Aphrodite was pleasantly tingly as it ran through Hamid’s body, and it left behind the fragrant smell of roses, but Hamid only had to look at Azu’s face – a picture of disappointment – to know it hadn’t worked.

‘We tried,’ Hamid admitted. ‘It’s hereditary, so it’s not really an illness, so much as it’s a curse.’

‘Can you breathe fire?’ Sasha asked with bright eyes.

‘… yeah,’ Hamid said.

‘ _Cool_.’

Zolf had his head tilted to one side, brow furrowed, clearly thinking hard.

‘This is because your ancestor is a meritocrat,’ he said, slowly.

‘Yeah,’ Hamid said. ‘Apophis, of course. In Cairo.’

‘Oh wow,’ Azu said, hands to her face. 

‘How does that work?’ Sasha asked, confused. ‘A dragon and a halfling, I mean.’

Hamid caught Zolf’s eye and couldn’t help but chuckle.

‘Apophis can take any form he wants,’ Hamid said. ‘Apparently halfling was a favourite of his.’

‘So, you get sorcerer-esque powers, but also physical affects,’ Zolf continued, his hand stroking one of his beard braids. 

‘I guess meritocrat genes are stronger than the average magic creature.’

‘But why would they want you dead?’ Grizzop asked. ‘It makes sense that the harlequins would – present company excepted, I guess – but why would the meritocrats want their own descendants dead if they start getting scaly and breathing fire?’

Hamid shrugged.

‘All I know is that they killed my sister, and my parents commissioned Wilde to keep me safe. He’s a secret agent within the meritocrat forces, works with a lot of meritocrat families with similar issues, apparently, though there are so few of them, and no one has had the sickness as bad as I do in a long time.’

‘Maybe that’s why the meritocrats have so few descendants,’ Grizzop offered. ‘They’ve been alive since before the fall of Rome – they’d have hundreds of thousands of them if they were turning into halflings all the time.’

‘Who knows,’ Hamid shrugged. ‘All I know is, all my skin is turning to scale and my magic is getting more and more out of control. I’m better at hiding it than Aziza was, but I don’t know how long I can keep living in London if it gets any worse. I was almost rumbled today, by that clerk.’

‘He tried to get Hamid to step into a vault with anti-magic fields,’ Azu explained.

‘The locket would have failed,’ Hamid shrugged, gesturing to his face, ‘and this would have been out for all to see.’

Zolf reached out a hand, slowly, as though expecting Hamid to flinch again. Hamid very carefully held himself still, and Zolf felt along the strange ridge of his scales down the side of his neck and onto his shoulders.

‘They’re warm,’ he said, sounding surprised. 

‘They go down my spine, now, too,’ Hamid said. ‘They’re spreading.’

‘But you said you changed fully, in Prague?’ Sasha asked. ‘And you turned back afterwards?’

‘Yes,’ Hamid nodded, ‘that was the first time, apart from the darker nails.’ He held up his clawed, gnarled hands so the others could better see them in the light. ‘Now they look like this.’

‘I still don’t understand why the meritocrats would want to kill their own family,’ Azu said.

‘They’re not exactly hands-on with us,’ Hamid said, ‘even when they don’t apparently want us dead. We get presented to our ancestor at birth by our parents for their blessing, but apart from that…’

‘Maybe you should ask Apophis himself,’ Grizzop said. ‘He’s your family. Maybe the meritocrat agents are doing this without the meritocrat’s say-so.’

Zolf snorted. 

‘I very much doubt they do anything without the meritocrats’ say-so,’ he said. ‘I bet they have to ask before they can even take a-‘

‘Alright,’ Hamid said, quickly. ‘It’s not… a bad idea.’

‘Apart from the fact that if an all-powerful meritocrat does want you dead, you’d be delivering yourself straight into their hands?’ Zolf yelled.

‘Well, I couldn’t go,’ Hamid said. ‘But one of my family could.’

‘My boss, Healer Fairhands, went once,’ Azu said, thoughtfully. ‘To discuss the heart of Aphrodite. It’s our greatest healing artefact, but Apophis keeps it safe so it isn’t stolen from the temple.’ Azu’s face brightened. ‘Hey! The heart of Aphrodite can heal anything! Maybe that could make you better, Hamid!’

‘And how would we get that, if Apophis keeps it safe? We’re back to marching up to him and telling him everything,’ Grizzop pointed out.

‘Hey, there’s no ‘we’ in any of this,’ Hamid said, firmly. ‘You two,’ he pointed at Zolf and Sasha, ‘are going with Wilde as soon as it’s safe, and you two,’ he pointed at Azu and Grizzop, ‘will guard me until I can stop working at this stupid bank and go and live, I don’t know, in the wilderness somewhere.’

The stubborn expressions on Zolf and Sasha’s faces were what Hamid had expected, but he was surprised to see the same expressions bloom on Azu and Grizzop’s faces too.

‘That’s not a solution,’ Zolf said. ‘Not a real one, anyway.’

‘There has to be a way to help,’ Azu agreed. ‘I’m sure there’s a way to get the heart of Aphrodite without telling anyone what we want it for. Healer Fairhands trusts me, and it’s said it can heal anything.’

‘I don’t think this is the kind of thing that can be healed,’ Hamid said, gently. ‘It’s in my blood. It’s part of me. Like a kind of genetic time bomb. There have been cases in my family for hundreds of years, though never as many as two in a generation. Mostly it happened once every one hundred years or so.’

‘And what happened to those people?’ Sasha asked, intrigued. ‘They can’t have all been killed.’

‘Most of them got so bad they got locked up for everyone’s safety. They all went mad, in the end, and had to be… dealt with,’ Hamid said. 

Everyone stared at him, horrified. Hamid shrugged.

‘My parents told me all this when I told them I had symptoms, to let me know what to expect,’ he said. ‘And besides, it was kinder than leaving them locked up for the rest of their lives, no higher thought processing left.’

‘There must be a way,’ Zolf said firmly. ‘You turned back once. You must be able to turn back again.’

Hamid didn’t have the heart to tell them that he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He’d accepted his fate three years ago and decided to make the most of his life by working with Wilde and helping those who fought against the cause of his inevitable doom. Seeing his friends all balking at the thought of giving up was making his heart flutter with the beginnings of hope once more, and he really couldn’t face the disappointment all over again.

‘If you’re just going to die anyway, why would the meritocrat agents go to such lengths to kill you?’ Grizzop asked.

Hamid had wondered that himself.

‘I guess it shows that not all of the meritocrat’s power is exclusive to them?’ He’d had a long time to think about it, after all, and when his parents had told him that there was no cure and that he had to keep it hidden from the rest of the world, he’d wondered just why he would be so sought after when all his ancestors had met their end without meritocrat agent’s help. ‘But that their genes are too much for us, and even with all their power they can’t save us either?’

‘Hmm,’ Zolf said, not sounding convinced. ‘Maybe.’

A silence fell, and Hamid realised just how drained and fatigued he was. After the adrenaline of the near miss at the bank, and then the further stress of taking off his locket and revealing what he really looked like to his friends, he was just about ready to drop. He made his excuses to the others and went into his room, heaving a huge sigh of relief once the door shut behind him. Realising he was still clutching the locket, he unfurled his hand and stared down at it.

Then he threw it onto the bed and went into his bathroom. In the harsh light, he looked worse than ever – the scales were now almost to the base of his spine and were spreading across his shoulders like built-in pauldrons. Hamid ran his fingers awkwardly down his own spine, following the ridge there, and to his horror he discovered a small, hard nub at the base of it. Much like the beginnings of a tail. Now he had three strange growths to worry about hiding, including the two small beginnings of horns hidden in his hair.

In his silk, monogrammed pyjamas, with his locket back on, Hamid felt much better. He was just tucked up in bed reading a book to distract himself when he heard a gentle knock on the door. Too gentle to be Azu – too high up to be Grizzop. Sasha didn’t seem to know what knocking was. That only left one option.

Hamid’s hand flew up to his neck, just to be sure that the locket was safely back on.

‘Come in,’ he called.

Zolf opened the door slowly and backed in awkwardly – when he turned around the reason was revealed to be a small food tray absolutely laden with leftovers.

‘You’ve missed lunch. And dinner,’ Zolf said, hurriedly, hovering awkwardly by the door. ‘So, I thought I’d bring you some stuff, since your blood sugar is probably pretty low. Sorry, I, uh, didn’t realise you were in bed.’

‘It’s ok,’ Hamid said. He wiggled further up into his pillows, so he was sitting straighter. He peered at the tray. ‘Is that… literally every type of food we have in the fridge?’

Zolf looked down at the tray.

‘Pretty much,’ he admitted. ‘Sasha helped.’

That explained a lot. Sasha, once Hamid had introduced her to the concept of gourmet cuisine, had become something of a foodie. She had a wide range of tastes and probably hadn’t wanted Hamid to miss out on anything good.

‘Thanks, Zolf,’ Hamid said, putting his book to the side and shoving off the blankets.

‘No, it’s ok – stay there. I’ll bring it over.’

‘Oh. Ok,’ 

Zolf did so, slowly – the tray was very precariously piled. He placed it on the bed beside Hamid with a flourish.

‘If I put it on your lap, it’ll probably crush you,’ he said. Hamid, looking down at the immense amount of food, agreed.

‘I’m sorry about earlier,’ Hamid said, quickly, as Zolf turned to leave. ‘That you had to see… all of that.’ He gestured to his face.

‘Hamid…’

‘Don’t say it’s not as bad as I think,’ Hamid warned, quickly. ‘I know how bad it is. I don’t need it sugar-coated. The scales are getting _everywhere_ and I think the little horns growing are giving me a headache and earlier, in the bathroom, I’m pretty sure I’m starting to grow a _tail_.’

Zolf stared at him. Then, to Hamid’s great surprise, Zolf… laughed.

‘Now _that_ would be something I’d love to see.’

Hamid had to admit, it was a little funny.

‘Anyway, I’ll leave you to your dinner,’ Zolf said, retreating to the door. ‘Hope you sleep well.’

And Hamid was left alone with a huge pile of food and a smile still on his face.

*

Hamid really didn’t want to go to the bank the next day, for fear of seeing that same clerk again, but Azu and Grizzop were already in his kitchen when he finally emerged for breakfast, and they walked with him and distracted him with gentle chatter about the weather and touristy places to visit in London. By the time he got to the bank, he’d almost forgotten his earlier dread, and he made it from the foyer to his office without seeing the clerk at all.

The day was predictably slow, but at midday he received a telegram inviting him to dine with Bertie at the club for dinner. Hamid was initially suspicious – if Bertie wanted to see him, he usually just burst into wherever Hamid was at the time, considering himself above such social niceties as a polite invitation in advance. The formality reeked of Wilde, and Hamid wondered what news there was, and whether it was related to his near miss the day before.

Azu and Grizzop accompanied him to the bank, but he sent them home when they arrived. Bodyguards were frowned upon in the club, which prided itself on its own expensive security. Hamid assumed that Bertie would walk home with him – and regardless, he was perfectly capable of turning himself invisible and getting home safely by himself.

Bertie was waiting for him in the foyer, characteristically impatient, but Hamid was unsurprised to see Wilde already seated at their table, his wine glass half-empty.

‘You’re still hanging around with Wilde, then?’ Hamid asked, sotte voce, as he and Bertie approached.

‘You still got that bit of rough tucked away in your flat?’ Bertie shot back. Hamid winced.

‘Bertie,’ he whispered. ‘ _Please_.’

‘Hmph.’

But Bertie seemed to realise he’d touched a nerve, and instead made fun of Hamid having a real job for once. As waiters pulled out their chairs and they sat, Wilde blinked laconically at Hamid.

‘So good to see you,’ he said, lazily, sipping his wine.

‘You too, Oscar,’ Hamid said politely.

The dinner was… fine. Hamid ate, but he couldn’t remember what. All the food tasted the same in his mouth, he was so nervous about what Wilde wanted to tell him. It was a little anticlimactic – after the meal, when Wilde excused himself, Hamid swayed under the influence of the bottle and a half of wine he’d drunk by himself. Hamid was so impressed at Wilde’s dedication to subterfuge that, as usual, he missed the exact moment when Wilde slipped the note into his pocket.

Hamid read it in the toilet before leaving the club.

_Our friend’s cousin is home for winter solstice. Our friends leave to meet him by the sky next Wednesday in the dark._

Hamid burnt the note in a handy ashtray, using a still-smouldering cigar. He walked home, invisible, with a heavy heart.

Zolf and Sasha were both in the lounge when he got home, and they looked up as he walked in. His face must have mirrored how he felt, because even Sasha looked concerned.

‘You alright, Hamid?’ she asked, even as Zolf moved forwards to grasp his shoulders.

‘What happened?’ he asked urgently, holding tight. ‘Are you ok? Are the others ok?’

‘I’m fine, everyone’s fine,’ Hamid said, shaking his head. ‘It’s nothing, really.’ He tried for a smile. ‘It’s good news, actually. Wilde contacted me. Brock’s safe, and you’re leaving, next Wednesday, by airship.’ 

Zolf took a step back, his hands falling limply from Hamid’s shoulders.

‘Oh,’ he said, frowning, as though confused by the information. ‘But what about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘Are you… safe?’

Hamid shrugged. ‘As safe as I was before you came here, and probably safer after.’

Zolf flinched a little, and Hamid felt guilty. But they would be leaving in less than a week, and Wilde would take their memories, and Zolf wouldn’t remember Hamid at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is being edited, and the rest I'm just finishing up. I think it should be five overall. Thank you all for your lovely comments! They've really made my week, and I'm glad that this AU I wrote as an indulgence for nano is bringing other people enjoyment too!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my nano-writing rush and subsequent edits I forgot Ed uses a Morningstar, not a sword - I've changed it in the rest of the fic but I will go back and change the previous chapter at some point. Enjoy!

Tjelvar fidgeted anxiously outside his supervisor’s office, rocking from foot to foot as he waited. He’d been called to a meeting that morning, despite it being a Saturday. Ed’s train was arriving at midday, which would have given Tjelvar plenty of time to get to the station, only his supervisor was running late in the meeting before his and time was ticking inexorably onwards.

Tjelvar checked his pocket watch again, saw that he was still late and getting later, and snapped it shut.

‘Come on, come on,’ he muttered to himself, listening to the muffled sounds of talking from behind the heavy oak door. He wondered whether he could just leave – he doubted the meeting was _that_ important, since term was almost over and there was nothing to do except prepare for students’ exams.

The door swung open, revealing his supervisor’s ruddy face.

‘Stornsnasson! Sorry to keep you, but we had quite a lot to organise. Come in, come in!’ The professor beckoned him in with a genial grin, and Tjelvar hurried inside.

He stopped halfway to the large mahogany desk, because there was a slim, well-dressed figure examining the bookshelves on the other side of the room.

‘Oh, were you not finished?’ Tjelvar said, hopefully. ‘I can come back later…’ 

_If I run now, I could get to the station just a few minutes late,_ Tjelvar thought to himself.

The figure – a man in a well-fitting suit and long, carefully coiffed hair – turned around and smiled at Tjelvar, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

‘Nonsense dear boy, nonsense!’ His supervisor looked pleased as punch – Tjelvar just felt confused. ‘Mr Wilde here is an _investor_. He’s heard all about your recent trip and wants to offer you funding for another one!’

‘Oh. Thank… you,’ Tjelvar said, slowly.

‘There are conditions to my funding,’ Wilde said, and his voice was as smooth as his smile. ‘Mr Stornsnasson, I would be very happy to fund another trip to the alps and any future trips, too – if you go on one for me, first.’

‘A dig?’ Tjelvar asked, wondering what a gentleman would want an archaeologist for.

‘Not… precisely. My benefactors, whom will be the ones providing the funding, have a great interest in Rome.’

Tjelvar was aware that his mouth had dropped open, but even though he knew it was uncouth, he couldn’t bring himself to shut it.

‘There is something in Rome that my benefactors would very much like to get their hands on, and we’re willing to pay you to get it,’ Wilde said.

‘When would I go?’ Tjelvar asked, still struggling to keep up. ‘To… to Rome?’

‘As soon as possible,’ Wilde said, smoothly. Everything he did was smooth. ‘Your transport will be arranged and paid for you – all you need to do is acquire the items and get them out of Rome. You can take an assistant, but we recommend that this is a relatively small expedition.’

‘I… I can’t go yet,’ Tjelvar stuttered, his mind racing. ‘I’ve got… teaching, and students-‘

‘No need to worry, dear boy, we can get a cover to take the last few lectures and give the exams,’ his supervisor said, slapping Tjelvar on the back. As his supervisor was a human rather on the short side, and Tjelvar was very much a full-grown orc, it was more of a tap on the lower back, but Tjelvar was too confused to be uncomfortable.

‘What is it you want me to get? From Rome,’ he clarified.

‘Ah. Well, mostly documents,’ Wilde said. 

‘How will I find which documents you mean, in the whole of Rome?’ Tjelvar asked. Even the very idea seemed laughable. ‘And surely the cult of Mars-‘

‘The cult of Mars are, unfortunately, not involved in this endeavour,’ Wilde said, quickly.

Tjelvar frowned. 

‘But… does that mean-‘

‘I’m sure that the finder of Hannibal’s tomb, as dangerous an expedition as that was, can manage to stay down-wind of the cult,’ Wilde said, as though Tjelvar hadn’t spoken. ‘Again, pick your assistant wisely. And a small group would be best. Just those you trust. And you will be provided with a map, once you are on your way.’

Tjelvar mulled it over in his head. It sounded mad. Completely insane. But… he wouldn’t have to finish the teaching term and would have funding for any expedition he chose afterwards. And he had always been interested in Rome. And, as Wilde said, it hadn’t exactly been safe to search for Hannibal’s tomb…

‘It’s a deal,’ Tjelvar said, reaching out and shaking Wilde’s hand.

By the time he finally got to the train station, he was horribly late, and there was a single lone figure sitting on a bench beside the platform. The figure was wearing the shining gold armour of Apollo and was holding a small canvas bag in their lap.

‘Ed! Eddie!’ Tjelvar called, out of breath from running practically the entire distance between his college and the station. The figure stood, and turned, and Tjelvar got to watch in real time as happy realisation dawned on Edward’s handsome face. It was not unlike watching the sun rise.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Tjelvar said, staggering to a halt beside the bench and leaning over, hands on his knees, as he struggled to catch his breath. ‘Meeting… ran late…’

‘That’s ok, Tjelvar,’ Ed said, beaming.

‘You’ve packed light.’ Tjelvar inclined his head at the small canvas bag Edward had clutched in his hands.

‘Oh. Have I?’ Ed looked down at his bag. ‘I packed all my things – I didn’t know what I would need.’

‘All your… things,’ Tjelvar said, slowly. He looked Edward up and down, taking in the armour, the morningstar, the packed bag – and an idea dawned. ‘Eddie, are you still between postings at the temple?’

‘Yeah,’ he shrugged. ‘I asked for some time off to come and visit you – I’m not avoiding work, or anything-‘

‘No, that’s… that’s perfect. Eddie, how would you like to come on an expedition with me?’

Edward’s face looked much like how Tjelvar would imagine a child’s face on receiving a puppy for winter solstice. Wide-eyed excitement, tinged with a hint of disbelief.

‘Me? Are you going back to the alps after winter solstice, then?’

‘I’m going on a very special expedition as soon as my travel is arranged. I’m allowed to bring an assistant with me. You’re the perfect choice!’

Even despite his excitement, Edward bit his lip anxiously.

‘Are you sure, Tjelvar?’ he said, worriedly. ‘I’m not very academical, and I haven’t been doing well at the temple lately.’

‘I’m definitely sure – you were the one to find the entrance to Hannibal’s tomb, were you not?’ Tjelvar pulled out his pocket watch and snapped it open. ‘Anyway, it’s getting on – you must be starving! And over lunch, you can tell me all about your pilgrimage to Rome.’

*

The time seemed to fly by, and it was all too soon that Wednesday arrived, and they started preparing to smuggle Zolf and Sasha to the airship hanger under the cover of night. Wilde and Hamid had set up a crude code in the years they’d been working together – ‘in the dark’ meant midnight, even though it was almost winter solstice and the dark drew in around four o’clock in the afternoon.

Hamid rummaged through his stores and pulled out the last two invisibility potions from his dwindling supply. He hadn’t bothered to replenish his stock before Zolf and Sasha, believing that he had outlived his usefulness to Wilde, and it was both a hassle and expensive to get them on the black market. 

‘They only last for an hour,’ he said, as he handed them out, ‘so you’ll take them just before we leave out the front door and then we’ll have to hurry.’

‘How long does it take to get to the hanger?’ Sasha asked.

‘About an hour, by a fast carriage.’ Hamid smiled weakly. ‘It’ll be tight – usually I do this with more than one potion per person, but worst comes to worst I’ll charm the driver and he won’t remember he had two extra passengers.’

‘Azu and Grizzop are coming with us?’

‘It would look strange if they didn’t,’ Hamid pointed out, ‘if they’re watching me. And besides, it’ll give you some back-up if things get dicey at the hanger.’

‘Have things got dicey before?’ Sasha asked, intrigued.

‘There’s been a couple of near misses,’ Hamid admitted. ‘There are a lot of guards, and an unscheduled airship always catches their notice. But you’ll be long gone into the air and out of their jurisdiction by the time they manage to get themselves organised.’

‘What about you?’ Zolf asked. ‘Won’t you get caught?’

Hamid had been thinking about that – usually he turned himself invisible and slipped away in all the commotion, but he could hardly do that with Azu and Grizzop in tow.

‘I’ve arranged for the al Tahan airship to be moored in the Heathrow hanger for the present,’ he said, ‘so I can use it as an excuse to visit the hanger.’

‘You’ve got your own personal airship.’ Sasha’s eyes were wide as saucers. ‘Have you ever driven it? I’ve always wanted to steer an airship.’

‘I usually spend the rides below decks,’ Hamid admitted. Sasha’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.

‘Maybe you’ll be allowed to have a go at driving our airship if you’re friendly to the captain,’ Zolf offered.

‘I’m not very good at being friendly,’ Sasha sulked.

By early evening, Zolf and Sasha were fully packed and complaining about how much extra stuff they’d managed to gather while staying with Hamid. When Sasha slipped out onto the balcony to say goodbye to her gargoyle friends, Hamid hurried into his room and pulled out the small package he’d hidden in his desk drawer. The book-shaped brown paper package had been in his room for a few weeks, while Hamid had worked up the nerve to give it to Zolf. Now was his last chance.

Zolf was re-checking his bags for the third time when Hamid emerged from his room, clutching the package with white-knuckled hands.

‘Uh, Zolf?’ he said, voice wobbling strangely.

‘Hmm?’ Zolf asked, distracted, as he rummaged through his stuff.

‘I, uh, got you this. For the journey.’ Hamid held out the package, his hand only minutely trembling.

‘Oh.’ Zolf swivelled around and took it gently. ‘Can I… unwrap it now?’

‘Yeah, of course. Sorry, it’s only in manuscript form, so it looks a little rough,’ Hamid babbled, as Zolf tugged apart the string and brown paper to reveal the rough bound manuscript. ‘But I managed to get a pre-print copy, since you’re leaving before it properly comes out and I thought you wouldn’t get a chance to buy it after you-‘

‘This is the new Harrison Campbell,’ Zolf said, staring down at the manuscript in his hands. ‘It’s not even out for reviews yet. How did you…’

‘The publishers is an off-shoot of one of our companies,’ Hamid admitted, ‘and Harrison Campbell, well, I’ve met him a couple of times and he seemed happy enough to give me an early copy when I said it was a big fan who was going away for work and wouldn’t be able to get it when it came out, and-‘

Hamid shut up, abruptly, as Zolf tossed the manuscript onto the sofa and dragged him into a tight, ferocious hug.

‘Thank you,’ he mumbled into Hamid’s hair.

‘It was nothing,’ Hamid said, a little muffled.

Zolf drew back a little, so they were staring into each other’s faces. There was something intense in his eyes. Hamid just let himself enjoy the recognition in Zolf’s eyes before it went away forever.

Something hung in the air between them, growing more and more intense, and Hamid thought for a strange, excited, panicked second that Zolf might kiss him.

And then Sasha burst into the room from the balcony doors, and the moment popped like a balloon and fell, deflated, to the floor. Hamid and Zolf jumped apart, and Hamid rearranged the clothing that had got rucked up in the hug.

‘Are we ready to go?’ he asked, proud of the steadiness of his voice.

‘Yup!’ Sasha cried, clearly excited at getting to leave the flat and get out into the world for the first time in months.

Zolf was inspecting his manuscript, reading the first page. Hamid panicked when he remembered the small inscription he’d written on the inside page; from a loving friend. He wished he could have written his name.

‘Right!’ He clapped his hands. ‘Let’s go.’

Azu had flagged down a taxi – Grizzop had already jumped up to the front, next to the driver, assuming a look-out position. Hamid waited for Zolf and Sasha to drink their potions and turn invisible before opening to door to the street and leading them out.

It was one of the new motor carriages, which Hamid was pleased about – they were much faster than horses, though slightly more prone to breaking down. But the whole journey went smoothly – very smoothly, considering the pit of dread in Hamid’s stomach. He could feel Zolf and Sasha sitting either side of him, their legs pressing into his. Some time into the journey, a larger hand took hold of his and held it tightly. Hamid wished the journey was longer, or that they would have to turn back. Anything to make it last.

But they got to Heathrow hanger in good time with no trouble, and he had to let go of Zolf’s hand to climb out of the motor carriage. It felt like an ending.

Then Hamid, as he stood looking at the entrance of the hanger, heard someone shouting. Shouting, and running towards them. Beside him, Sasha gasped softly, still invisible.

‘Brock,’ she whispered.

‘It’s a trap!’ the man yelled, as he pelted towards them. ‘Wilde says go to Dover! He’ll meet you there!’

‘Brock!’ Sasha yelled.

‘Sasha?’ Brock drew to a halt in front of them, panting and clutching his side, scanning the empty space where Sasha’s voice had come from. ‘Sasha, where are you?’

Hamid felt her move from beside him, and then Brock staggered back as she crashed into him, still completely invisible.

‘Sasha, you have to go,’ Brock said, hugging her. It looked strange with only him visible. ‘You’ve got to get out of the country.’

‘Aren’t you coming with us?’

‘I can’t. We’ll meet again, I promise, and I’ll explain everything. I _promise_.’

‘Come on!’ Grizzop called. He had reacted fast to Brock’s appearance and warning – with the help of Azu he’d knocked out the driver and commandeered the carriage. 

‘I can navigate!’ Hamid said. ‘I know the way from here. I know where we need to go.’

‘Sasha, we need to leave,’ Zolf called.

‘Go, Sasha,’ Brock said, hugging her tightly as she faded into existence. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’

Sasha clung to Brock tightly, giving him one last squeeze.

‘Sasha, we have to go!’ Zolf shouted, as he hung from the carriage door. Grizzop had already revved the engine.

Sasha broke free of Brock and ran full tilt to the others, catching Zolf’s hand and pulling herself up into the carriage just as Grizzop released the brake and let loose with the accelerator. The acceleration toppled Sasha into Zolf and Zolf into Hamid, and they all lay crushed on the worn leather seats as the carriage sped away.

‘Gods damn it, Wilde,’ Hamid swore as he clambered to his feet – this was harder than usual because of Grizzop’s rather frantic driving technique.

‘Don’t have the accelerator all the way down around corners!’ Zolf yelled as they took a particularly harrying turn. Hamid only just managed to catch himself on the door handle – Sasha almost face-planted the opposite side of the carriage. 

‘I can’t reach the pedals!’ Grizzop shouted back. ‘Azu’s doing it for me!’

Hamid and Zolf exchanged looks, and quickly reached out to grab a useful handle.

‘Does anyone know the way?’ Grizzop asked.

‘I do!’ Hamid called, and he manoeuvred himself around and stuck his head out of the roof window. He felt Zolf grab onto his arms to stabilise him from below. ‘I’ll direct you!’

It was a fraught ride to Dover – Hamid knew the way, since Dover had always been the back-up option to the airship, even if they’d never had to use it before. It was roughly a four-hour drive from London to Dover and it felt like Azu had her foot to the floor the entire time. By the time they drew up to the port, Hamid directing them to the meeting-place by the docks, they were all somewhat wind-blown and traumatised. All of them apart from Grizzop, who just looked high on exhilaration.

There was a ship reading to leave – sailors were bustling around it like busy ants, and Grizzop parked haphazardly right by the loading crane.

‘This is it,’ Hamid said, the sight of the ship suddenly making the finality of the goodbye hit home. ‘This is the ship. This is how you get out.’ He jumped out of their motor carriage, which along the way had popped a tire and was listing rather sadly to the side under Azu’s weight, and he cast an eye around for another motor car. ‘We just need to wait for Wilde to meet us here, to see you off.’

‘Why do we need Wilde to see us off, Hamid?’ Zolf asked, lowly, putting a hand on Hamid’s arm and turning him around to look at Zolf. 

Hamid swallowed.

‘Sounds like you’ve already worked it out,’ Hamid said, weakly. ‘How?’

‘ _From a loving friend_?’ Zolf said. Sasha stood behind him, fidgeting awkwardly. ‘You didn’t write your name.’

‘Oh.’ Hamid winced. ‘I’m sorry.’

Zolf took a deep breath.

‘Is it so we don’t remember you’re the one who saved us?’ he said. 

Hamid nodded, feeling wretched. 

‘Me and Wilde, really,’ he said. ‘He doesn’t take more beyond the first moment you met me, in the jail. There’s a letter from the Harlequins he usually gives the escapees, so they understand where their missing time went, and why they’re suddenly on an airship – or, in this case, an actual ship.’

‘Hamid.’ Zolf’s voice was softer than Hamid thought his west country accent could possibly be. ‘Hamid, I don’t want to forget you.’

‘I don’t want you to forget me, either,’ Hamid said, and to his horror he felt the tears welling up. He’d thought he had been prepared for this. He’d thought he was ready. But now, looking up into Zolf’s kind face, and Sasha’s awkward head popping up over his shoulder, he realised he wasn’t.

Azu and Grizzop, apparently realising that something emotional was happening, kept themselves over by the carriage.

‘I’m sorry,’ Hamid sniffed, and he pulled them both into a hug. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s permanent?’ Sasha asked, only just catching up. ‘We’ll lose our memories forever?’

‘Wilde’s pretty thorough,’ Hamid said, pulling back to wipe his eyes roughly. ‘He won’t let you go unless you agree to it.’

Zolf’s face settled into a determined expression, as though he’d come to a decision.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘So, this is it?’

‘Yeah,’ Hamid said, miserably. The hot burning sensation of holding back tears was making him feel like he was going to throw up.

‘Ok,’ Zolf said. ‘Right. Ok.’ He sounded like he was psyching himself up for something.

‘I’ll miss you, Hamid,’ Sasha said.

‘You won’t,’ Hamid said, smiling ruefully through his tears. ‘But I’ll miss you.’ Overhead, a seagull cried out mournfully as it wheeled in the lightening dawn sky. The sun was rising. The sound of a motor engine came into hearing, still a little distance away, but too close. Too soon.

‘Hamid,’ Zolf said. 

‘Yes?’ Hamid asked, looking up. And Zolf kissed him. He tasted of salt from Hamid’s escaped tears, and his lips were dry and he smelt of beard oil. Hamid never wanted to pull away. 

It was just a gentle kiss, a goodbye more than anything else, but when Zolf drew back, he whispered ‘I… like you. A lot.’

Hamid just stood, stunned by the kiss and the quiet declaration, as a motor carriage drew up fast behind them and squealed to a halt. On the ship, the sailors were shouting to each other as their preparations reached an end. They were setting off.

Wilde leapt from the carriage as it skidded to a stop. 

‘Sorry for the abrupt change of plans,’ he gasped, his usually perfectly coiffed hair a mess of tousled strands. He brushed them impatiently away as the sea breeze caught them and spun them into his eyes. ‘You need to go too, Hamid. They know. I don’t know how, but they know.’

‘The clerk,’ Azu said, too loudly.

Hamid groaned. His avoidance of the vault had probably just as damning as the act of actually stepping into it.

‘You’re getting on that ship,’ Wilde said.

‘Hamid?’

‘ _Bertie_?!’

Bertie clambered out of the driving seat of Wilde’s motor car, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. 

‘What are you doing here, Hamid?’

‘He’s running away from the people who want to kill him,’ Wilde said, shortly. ‘Hamid, trust me, you need to run.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Wilde said. ‘I’m safe, so far.’

‘Ok.’ Hamid took stock. He had his magic sleeves, a few coins, and his locket. That was all he needed. Then he panicked.

‘My stone! It’s in my safe.’

‘I’ll forward it to your destination,’ Wilde said, waving a hand.

‘Which is?’ Zolf asked, impatient.

‘The New World,’ Wilde said. ‘The only place outside of complete meritocratic control.’

‘What? Hamid, you’re not really going there, are you?’ Bertie asked.

‘Looks like I have no choice.’

‘We’ll go with you,’ Azu said, stepping forwards, chest out. Beside her, barely coming up to her thigh, Grizzop stepped forward too. 

‘Yes, we will,’ he squeaked. ‘Your sister paid us to look after you, and we can hardly do that if you’re all the way over in the New World without us, can we?’

Hamid felt like bursting into tears all over again.

‘Does this mean we don’t have to get our memories removed?’ Zolf asked Wilde, his chin jutting out belligerently.

‘It’d be pointless, now,’ Wilde sighed, waving a hand. ‘Just get on that ship, all of you, before it leaves without you. I’ve got to get back to London and sort out this absolute train wreck of a situation. Get _in_ , Bertie.’

Bertie stood there, mouth open, staring at Hamid.

‘Go on,’ Hamid said, gently. ‘Go with Wilde.’

Bertie looked like he was going to protest, but then he thought better of it.

‘Look after him, Mr Smith,’ he sniffed at Zolf. ‘Good luck, Hamid.’

And Bertie got in the car.

‘We need to go,’ Hamid said, turning around and seeing the sailors staring to unmoor the ropes. He helped Sasha and Zolf grab their bags – he, Azu, and Grizzop, of course, had nothing with them except what they were wearing.

Hamid spared a thought for his family as he ran across the gangplank. He wondered what the story Wilde would spread to cover his tracks. An accident, maybe. His poor parents. Poor Saira.

As the ship began to make sail, the cloth flapping and catching the wind, Hamid watched the white cliffs of Dover grow smaller and smaller as the dawn light spread over the dancing waves.

*

Zolf looked incredibly at home on a ship. It had taken him very little time to get in with the captain and crew, and with his experience they were pleased to have an extra helping hand. With the wind in his beard he looked, Hamid thought, like the protagonist in one of Harrison Campbell’s silly romance novels.

Then Hamid blushed, and turned away.

Hamid had the feeling that Zolf was avoiding him. They had hardly spoken since Zolf’s charged confession at the docks, when they’d believed it to be goodbye. In Hamid’s defence, he hadn’t tried very hard to find Zolf. For the first few days he had been terribly seasick, and Zolf had been busy insinuating himself into the crew and reconnecting with his sailing roots.

But now that Hamid had worked out his sea legs and could come up on deck and enjoy the fresh sea air, and watch Zolf from afar, he had yet to pluck up the courage to actually go up and talk to him – let alone broach the topic of their hurried love confessions. The memory of the kiss burnt hot in Hamid’s memory. 

He wondered if Zolf had even meant it, really. It had been a spur of the moment thing, after all. A last chance saloon confession. Maybe he had regrets. Maybe now he realised he’d be stuck with Hamid for the foreseeable future – especially on such a small ship – he wished he hadn’t said anything.

Sasha dropped down beside Hamid from somewhere in the rigging, her cheeks flushed with the wind and exhilaration.

‘What’re you brooding about?’

‘I’m not brooding,’ Hamid said, crossing his arms haughtily. ‘I’m thinking.’

‘You’re thinking very hard in Zolf’s direction,’ Grizzop observed, from beside him. Hamid jumped.

‘How long have you two been watching me?’ he asked, annoyed.

‘We’ve been here ages,’ Azu chipped in, from where she was standing right behind Hamid. 

‘You’ve been too busy brooding to notice,’ Sasha added.

Hamid threw his hands up in the air.

‘I’m _not_ brooding,’ he cried. ‘I’m going below.’

He stomped off to the small cabins where, as passengers rather than crew, they had been bunked up. They had actual beds, rather than hammocks, which was a blessing, though the beds were somewhat undersized for Azu and they’d had to dissemble one of the bunkbeds just so she could lie down fully without her legs hanging comically off the end.

After checking around, to make sure no one was watching, Hamid allowed himself to collapse dramatically onto his bunkbed. Then he lay there for a while, staring at the pallets of the bed above his. 

‘You are brooding, you know,’ Sasha informed him.

Hamid sat up so fast he almost hit his head on the bed above.

‘I’m _not_ ,’ he hissed, lying back and turning over to face the wall.

‘I had an interesting chat with Zolf, earlier,’ Sasha said, in a very blasé fashion that sounded markedly unlike her.

Hamid resolutely kept staring at the wall.

‘He said some stuff about the other day. You know. About the whole… goodbye thing.’

Hamid sighed, and rolled over.

‘What did he say, Sasha?’ he asked tiredly.

‘Admit you’re brooding,’ she shot back.

‘ _Fine_.’ Hamid sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, leaning forward eagerly. ‘What did he say?’

‘He’s been avoiding you because he thinks he took advantage of you, at the docks,’ Sasha said, promptly.

Hamid’s mouth hung open.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, apparently you didn’t say anything about liking him back, so he thinks it’s just one-sided and so he’d keeping himself to himself so you don’t feel pressured into doing anything you don’t want to,’ Sasha said.

‘But… I kissed him,’ Hamid wailed. ‘I didn’t have _time_ to say anything! Wilde interrupted us!’

‘Yes, that’s what I said,’ Sasha said, sounding long-suffering. ‘But you know he won’t believe it unless _you_ tell him.’

‘How am I supposed to do that when he’s avoiding me?’

Sasha shrugged.

‘I think you’re both idiots,’ she supplied, before rolling over on her own bunk.

Hamid hatched a cunning plan – Zolf always seemed to come to bed after everyone else and leave earlier in the morning. So, once everyone was in bed except for Zolf, Hamid snuck out of the room and loitered outside the door, invisible, waiting for Zolf to walk by.

Zolf wandered in at past midnight, smelling of rum and cigarette smoke, and though his gait was lopsided as usual he moved as quietly as he could, eyes alert and scanning the area before he moved towards the door.

Hamid revealed himself just as Zolf reached the door.

‘Gods, Hamid!’

‘Sasha told me,’ he said, quickly, not wanting Zolf to run – limp – away. ‘What you think.’

Zolf heaved a great sigh.

‘I’m-‘

‘You’re wrong,’ Hamid blurted out. ‘I mean, you’re wrong about me,’ he amended. ‘You’re not wrong to – I didn’t mean… Look,’ he said, taking a breath, ‘I didn’t have time to say anything back, on the docks. Wilde came and… everything happened very fast.’

In the dark, Zolf’s face was inscrutable. Hamid plunged on.

‘I really, _really_ , didn’t want you to lose your memories,’ he said, his voice hitching. ‘I mean, of course I’d miss Sasha, too, but… I couldn’t stand the thought of you never knowing me. I shouldn’t have written in that manuscript. Anything that might jog your memory would have been a danger. But I wrote it anyway, because I hoped that even without my name, you might read it and… remember me. And come back.’

Hamid had been staring at the floor as he dragged the words out – now he looked up, trying to see Zolf’s reaction. 

‘I, um, like you too, Zolf,’ Hamid said, with a sigh of relief. ‘I should have said it before.’

‘You didn’t have the chance.’ Zolf’s voice was low and rough with emotion. ‘I didn’t let you. I was too afraid to allow you to try.’

‘Well.’ Hamid spread out his hands and smiled through his tears. ‘Do you still want me? Scales and all?’

Zolf went from still as a statue to lurching forward all at once and crushing Hamid to his chest. He was still in his scale armour, and so Hamid was somewhat crushed against it, but he hugged back as hard as he was able.

*

Four days in, and Hamid was restless. His seasickness had abated enough for him to spend most of the day out in the fresh air on deck, which, though cold, was preferable to the stale air of belowdecks. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was being followed, somehow, that their escape had been too clean.

When he’d related his problems the others, they hadn’t seemed bothered.

‘Too clean?’ Grizzop said. ‘Are you joking? Literally everything went wrong.’

‘From the original plan, yeah,’ Hamid said. ‘But we got away easy, after that. It just feels… I don’t know. There’s something not right about this.’

‘Something… fishy?’ Azu said, giggling at her own joke.

Zolf was the only one who seemed to take his worries seriously, but only because he thought the crew were acting strangely.

‘They’re all supposed to be old hands at this route. The captain’s a smuggler, trades goods over in the New World and brings black market stuff back to Britain,’ Zolf told Hamid, one of the rare times they managed to get away from the others and spend time alone together. They were up on the deck, the Atlantic smooth and quiet around them, the moon high and bright in the night sky.

‘Makes sense,’ Hamid mused. ‘Not many sailors would risk the journey, if it’s there’s a direct law against it from the meritocrats.’

‘They’re all pirates,’ Zolf shrugged. ‘Which is fine.’

‘But…?’

Zolf scanned the deck before leaning in closer. To anyone looking out at them, it would have appeared as though they were sharing a close embrace. Which was the truth, at the base of it.

‘But over two thirds of the crew are new hires,’ Zolf muttered, his breath warm on Hamid’s cheek. ‘Hired at Dover.’

‘How exactly do you ‘hire’ pirates?’ Hamid hissed back.

‘You go to the right kinds of pubs, you make the right kinds of threats.’ Zolf shrugged, though he was so close Hamid felt it rather than saw it. ‘It’s not hard if you know how.’

‘But this is worrying you?’

‘A mostly unknown crew on such an important voyage – yeah, I’m a little worried,’ he said. ‘If the Captain can’t control them, we could have a mutiny, and then we’d be at their mercy. They could take us straight back to Dover and deliver us right into the meritocrats’ hands.’

‘Claws,’ Hamid amended, absentmindedly. ‘Why did they need to hire so many new people? Surely that’s a huge risk.’

‘From what some of the original crew have been saying, it sounds like a huge group of them were arrested in Dover. Someone must have rumbled them. The new hires were from necessity, rather than choice.’

‘Well.’ Hamid sighed out a long column of water vapour, the cold air crystallising his breath. ‘We’ll just have to stay vigilant.’

*

Zolf’s fears turned out to be well-founded. Two days later and they were woken to the sounds of fighting on deck. By the time they’d armoured up and raced to the scene, the fight was over. The Captain was dead, or at least Hamid assumed he was – no one could be alive for much longer with that much of their blood on the outside – and a quarter of the crew were kneeling before one sailor who seemed to have appropriated the previous Captain’s hat.

In a blink of an eye, Grizzop had pulled out his bow and arrow and shot twice at the pirate in the appropriated hat.

‘Grizzop, stop!’ Hamid cried, seeing the multiple crossbows pointing back at them, but it was too late; one arrow was already sticking out of the pirate’s upper arm, while the other lodged into his knee. He fell down with a gurgle, and there was a whistle of other arrows being let fly.

‘Get down!’

Something hit Hamid hard in the shoulder and he staggered, even as Sasha and Azu leapt forward at the crowd of pirates, daggers and great axe out and shining respectively. Azu’s great axe seemed to hum with an otherworldly sound as she swung it at the sailors, taking out three sailors with the same number of swings. Sasha leapt onto another, her daggers flashing in the sun, and her target fell to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Hamid caught his balance and shot two magic missiles at a sailor creeping up on Azu, then he staggered again, his legs like jelly. His target fell, but as quickly as they fell, they were replaced. Another sailor had grabbed the Captain’s hat off his downed comrade and put it on, and was directing the others toward Azu and Sasha.

Beside Hamid, Grizzop swayed and sunk to his knees, an arrow almost the size of his small goblin body protruding from his side. Hamid tried to reach him, but his arms weren’t responding. The floor felt topsy-turvy, as though his legs had forgotten they were on a ship. 

Zolf, not as fast as the others with his peg leg, made it halfway to the conflict, trident out and ready, before he looked back.

‘Hamid!’ he called, sounding panicked.

‘Grizzop’s hurt,’ Hamid gasped, even as his shoulder began to blossom in pain. He glanced down and saw an arrow sticking out of his shoulder, his coat already sodden with blood. ‘Oh,’ he said, dazed.

Zolf had turned fully around now, limping back to Hamid, his hands already glowing with blueish divine light. But Hamid’s sight was getting blurry, and it was all he could do to remain standing now that the pain was making itself known. And oh was it there – it radiated out from his shoulder like a burning heat.

Heat. Hamid looked at the fight. A fireball could take out almost all the rest, he thought hazily. But Azu was right in the thick of it, and Sasha might not be able to dive out of the way in time…

‘Grizzop needs help,’ Hamid argued as Zolf grew closer, trying to push his hands away. ‘Zolf – Grizzop’s unconscious…’

‘Hamid, stop fighting me,’ Zolf growled. Hamid struggled vainly, but the world felt distant and fuzzy, as though he were wrapped in cotton wool. His vision was spinning – the pain and the grogginess was making him feel nauseated.  
‘Need to throw up,’ he muttered, before his world went dark. He didn’t even remember hitting the deck.

*

Hamid came to consciousness all at once, as though someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. The pain in his shoulder had subsided somewhat, and when he chanced a look at it there was no longer an arrow sticking out of it. The need to vomit had also subsided, so Hamid trusted his body to sit up.

He ached all over and his legs felt stiff and unyielding, but he managed to sit up. For a few seconds, he panicked that he had gone blind, but then he realised the room was just pitch black.

Hamid took a breath and cast dancing lights.

The others were scattered around him, all apparently either asleep or unconscious. The reason his legs were hard to move immediately became apparent; they were manacled and attached to the post in the centre of the room, along with everyone else. 

Grizzop was lying close to Azu’s large, still form, tied in rope, his goblin body apparently too small for the chains. He was still and pale, and Hamid couldn’t see if he was breathing or not.

Zolf was lying beside him, only one leg chained but both his hands also bound, and Hamid shuffled over. He was loathe to wake him, but he needed to know if Grizzop was alive.

‘Zolf,’ he hissed, nudging Zolf with his good arm. ‘Zolf, wake up!’

Zolf’s eyes snapped open – Hamid had always been impressed by Zolf’s ability to go from deeply asleep to wide awake in seconds. Zolf had said he’d learnt it in the Navy.

‘Ha – Hamid?’ he said, scrambling upright. ‘Are you ok?’ He cupped Hamid’s face in his large, rough hands, his chains clanking loudly.

‘Shhh,’ Hamid said, though he placed his hands on top of Zolf’s. ‘I’m ok, I’m ok – thanks to you, I assume?’

‘You lost a lot of blood,’ Zolf said, shakily, still clutching Hamid’s face.

‘Grizzop,’ Hamid said, again, more firmly. ‘Zolf, is Grizzop…’

‘Azu got to him in time,’ Zolf said. ‘It’s ok, Hamid. He’s alive.’

Hamid sagged in relief; Zolf released his face and tugged him in close for a hug. The chains around Zolf’s arms were uncomfortable, but the comfort Hamid felt at being held close and safe outweighed it. Zolf wasn’t wearing his scale armour, Hamid realised. And Azu’s armour, usually bright pink and glowing, was conspicuously absent from the dark room.

‘What happened?’ he asked, quietly. The sounds of the others’ gentle breathing and snoring echoed around them.

‘We surrendered and put down our weapons so that they would let us heal you,’ Zolf said, his voice a low rumble behind Hamid’s back. ‘Then they dragged us down here and tied us up.’

‘Why?’

‘Why did they tie us up? Or why did they mutiny?’

‘Why anything,’ Hamid asked, frustration making him want to cry. ‘We were supposed to be _safe_.’

‘I was right,’ Zolf said, darkly. ‘Those new hires are just a load of second-rate bounty hunters. The new ‘Captain’,’ Zolf snorted, and the disdain in his voice was so sharp that Hamid flinched, ‘wants to sail back to Dover and hand us over to the meritocratic agents for a fortune in bounty.’

‘Idiots,’ Hamid sighed. ‘They’ll kill them. They know too much, and the agents don’t care for criminals.’

‘They don’t know that,’ Zolf said. 

‘So, we’re heading back to Dover,’ Hamid said.

‘Unless we can get out of here and stage our own mutiny, yes.’

‘We’ve got time.’

‘We’re also down two.’ Zolf squeezed him gently. ‘Hamid… I had to take your locket off. To see how bad the damage was.’

Hamid’s hand shot up to clutch his locket – it was back around his neck, safely. But there was something odd in Zolf’s voice.

‘What?’ Hamid asked, nervously.

‘The scales – they spread,’ Zolf said, quickly. ‘Around the arrow wound. As though they were toughening you up. Saving you.’

‘And they’re still there,’ Hamid sighed. He slipped the locked off his head and slipped his hand into his shirt. Sure enough, down over his pectoral and over his heart the scales had spread almost to the base of his ribs, though only on his left side.

‘I don’t think it’s going to kill you,’ Zolf said, hushed, barely more than a whisper. His hand joined Hamid’s, running across the rough surface of scales, muffling the beat of his heart. ‘I think it’s trying to protect you. You’re more indestructible in the dragony form – that’s why you fully turned at the opera.’

‘Maybe,’ Hamid mused, unconvinced. ‘But the more I look like… like _this_ , the more likely I’m going to be spotted and killed. If we survive this trip, anyway.’

‘There must be a way for you to change at will,’ Zolf continued. ‘I’m sure of it.’

Hamid slipped the locket back over his head. His shoulder was gently throbbing now, the pain a dull, constant reminder.

‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any more healing in those hands?’ he asked, sleepily, sinking deeper into Zolf’s embrace. The chains clanked, but apart from a loud snore from Azu, no one stirred at the noise.

‘No; sorry. All tapped out from saving your life.’ Zolf held him a little tighter, shifting his hand away from Hamid’s bad shoulder. ‘As the only medic awake, I prescribe rest and relaxation.’

‘Yes, medic,’ Hamid said, already yawning. His dancing lights winked out as he slipped into a restless sleep.

*

They spent almost three days in the hold, in the dark, lit only by Hamid’s dancing lights. By the end of the third day, as they were all starting to go a little mad, Grizzop finally woke up.

‘You’re an idiot,’ Azu sobbed, as she clutched his hand tightly.

‘Sorry,’ Grizzop said, actually sounding repentant for one of the first times Hamid had ever known him. ‘I reacted a bit… rashly.’

‘Well, you’re the one who paid for it,’ Zolf said, blunt as ever. ‘So, I guess it balances out.’

Hamid pinched him, but Zolf didn’t react at all.

‘I’m glad you’re ok, Grizzop,’ Hamid said. ‘And I’m so sorry this happened. You’re only here because of me-‘

‘And it was my own stupid fault I got shot,’ Grizzop said, shortly. ‘It’s not your fault all the time, Hamid.’ He struggled upwards, fighting against his ties. ‘What have they kept us for?’

‘They’re delivering us to Dover for a bounty,’ Hamid said, sullenly. ‘Three guesses to who.’

They all fell silent for a second or two.

‘So?’ Grizzop piped up. ‘What’s the plan?’

‘Plan?’

‘Yeah, the plan?’ He looked around at all of their morose faces, disbelief spreading on his. ‘You mean you guys have just been sitting here for days, staring at my unconscious body, not making any plans?’

‘We also played cards,’ Sasha pointed out.

‘We can’t exactly just get up and take over the ship,’ Hamid pointed out. ‘For one, we’re all chained.’ He shook his leg, making the manacles rattle pointedly. ‘And besides, there’s only five of us, and only Zolf knows how to sail. How are we supposed to run the ship by ourselves?’

‘Well, what about the rest of the crew? The ones they caught before we woke up?’ Grizzop looked around them all again. ‘Where are they?’

‘In the other hold, presumably,’ Zolf said, sounding nettled.

‘Perfect. Close by. Hamid, cut these ropes for me,’ Grizzop said, shuffling over with his hands outstretched. Hamid frowned.

‘They took all our stuff.’

‘Use your dragony stuff.’ Grizzop waggled his eyebrows.

‘I don’t have that fine control over fire!’ Hamid protested. ‘I’d burn you!’

‘Not _fire_ ,’ Grizzop said, rolling his eyes. ‘I mean, you know…’ He made claw shapes with his hands. ‘With your talons.’

‘Oh,’ Hamid said, stunned. He hadn’t even thought of it. From the looks on everyone else’s faces, neither had they.

Hamid slipped off his locket, and then shuffled closer to Grizzop. In the dim light of his magic, his claws looked strange and dark, the tips black as obsidian and the scales a subtle, metallic brass. He flexed his hands, and watched the claws flex in response, feeling the strange disconnect between the hand he expected to see and the claw he saw. 

It took him almost half an hour to saw through the tough hempen rope, but it wasn’t tough enough to withstand even small dragon claws. Grizzop, released from his bounds, got shakily to his feet and stretched.

‘Now what?’ Azu asked.

‘Don’t ask me!’ Grizzop threw up his hands. ‘I’ve only just woken up!’

‘I could get these shackles open if I had my tools,’ Sasha said, shaking her manacles. ‘It’s not a very hard lock.’

‘I can turn you invisible, Grizzop,’ Hamid offered. ‘Then you can sneak out and get Sasha’s lock-picks when they bring us food.’

‘Aren’t they going to notice that Grizzop’s missing?’ Zolf asked.

‘I can cast an illusion,’ Hamid said.

Everyone turned to look at him, their faces lit strangely under the dancing lights.

‘You really are full of surprises,’ Grizzop said.

‘I mean, I _am_ a sorcerer,’ Hamid pointed out. 

‘We thought you were a rich, foppish playboy,’ Grizzop said, bluntly. Hamid’s betrayed expression must have spoken volumes, because Grizzop immediately held up his hands in defence.

‘Hey, your sister hired us to protect you! People who need bodyguards aren’t usually able to protect themselves!’

‘You guys didn’t think I was useless, did you?’ Hamid asked, desperately, looking between Zolf and Sasha. Sasha looked awkward, and then averted her gaze. Zolf just looked amused.

‘I broke you out of _prison_!’ Hamid screeched. ‘I literally rescued you!’

‘A proficient cat burglar, yes,’ Zolf admitted, ‘but not exactly… combat ready.’

‘Just because I don’t have a massive big Great Axe or a fancy trident,’ Hamid sulked. ‘I could have taken out over half of those sailors, on the deck.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘Er, well,’ Hamid said, shiftily. ‘It isn’t exactly a precise thing. I didn’t want to catch Sasha and Azu in the splash zone. And also, um… I didn’t want to set fire to the boat.’

‘You… what?’

‘It’s all made of wood, so I figured dropping a great big fireball on it wouldn’t be a good idea,’ Hamid said, through gritted teeth.

‘Ok, Hamid, we’re all very sorry we underestimated you,’ Sasha said, only rolling her eyes a little, ‘but do you think you can sneak out of here if you’re invisible, Grizzop?’

‘Yeah, how are you feeling?’ Azu asked. ‘How’s your chest?’

Grizzop rolled his shoulders back a few times, only moderately wincing.

‘Well enough,’ he shrugged. ‘Where do you think they’ll be keeping our stuff?’

‘There’s two hold compartments,’ Zolf said. ‘We’re in the smaller one – I think the rest of the crew who weren’t involved in the mutiny are being kept in the larger one, with all the cargo for the New World.’

‘So they’ll be keeping our stuff upstairs?’ Hamid asked. Zolf nodded.

‘There’s a small store cupboard next to the galley – it had various weapons in it during the first part of our journey. Also, it had a big padlock on it that only the Captain had the key to. If they’re keeping our things anywhere, it’s most likely in there.’

‘How am I going to get in there if it’s locked?’

‘You’ll have to get the key from the Captain,’ Zolf began. Azu just heaved a great sigh.

‘I don’t think this is going to work,’ she said. ‘What if they catch you and just kill you?’

‘Azu’s right,’ Sasha said. ‘It’s too risky.’

‘So we’re just going to sit here until we get to Dover in a couple of days, where we’ll be handed over to the meritocrats? Where they’ll probably just kill Hamid on sight?’ Zolf hissed furiously. 

‘Zolf…’ Hamid began.

‘No, he’s right,’ Grizzop said. ‘How long does this invisibility last, Hamid?’

‘An hour,’ Hamid supplied, ‘but Grizzop, we really should wait just a little-‘

‘I’m going,’ Grizzop said, firmly.

They enacted their plan, on Grizzop’s urging, the very next time a bored sailor delivered their food. The man didn’t even glance at the illusion of Grizzop lying silently next to Azu; without Hamid’s dancing lights, the hold was dark even with the door open, and the real, invisible Grizzop slipped out the open door behind his back without a hitch.

They waited with bated breath for the entire hour. At almost the last second, the door creaked open. Nothing came through, and the door closed quietly again. Hamid took a breath and dropped the spell. Grizzop was standing in the middle of the room. Hamid cast dancing lights.

Grizzop had a large, shit-eating grin on his face, and in his hand he was holding a small, silver key.

‘Got one better than your tools, Sasha,’ he said, as he walked over to her. The key fit right into the manacles and within moments they were dropping to the floor, and Sasha was wringing her hands in relief.

‘Now what?’ Sasha asked, once everyone else’s manacles were off.

They looked around at each other.

‘We… didn’t think this far ahead,’ Hamid admitted.

‘We didn’t even think we’d manage the first step of that plan,’ Grizzop pointed out.

‘We have to wait ‘til we’re near land,’ Zolf pointed out. ‘Even if we could take over the ship, we wouldn’t have enough crew to run it, even with the captured crew in the other hold. We need to time our moment, stealth out of here, and steal a skiff when we get close to land.’

Nobody was very happy with that plan – swollen on elation from Grizzop’s success, escape had felt within their grasp. Now, knowing they had to sit and wait in the dark for another few days, their ecstatic mood deflated somewhat.

Another day in the dark, lit only by Hamid’s dancing lights. Every time someone came by with food, they all rushed to put on their manacles and make it look like they were still tied up, but the sailor who brought their food never bothered to hang around for look.

‘It’s almost insulting,’ Grizzop pointed out. 

‘If it makes it easier to escape, I’m not complaining,’ Hamid said.

*

A day out from Dover, and Zolf was growing more and more worried. The ship had been tossing and rolling more than usual, and the sounds of wind and rain were reaching cacophonous levels even in down in the hold.

‘It’s a storm. A big one,’ Zolf said, seriously. 

Hamid’s seasickness was making a violent return, and he just nodded weakly before continuing to hang his head over a bucket. Sasha patted his back awkwardly.

‘This is a good thing, right?’ Grizzop said. 

‘No.’ Zolf’s face was grave. ‘We don’t have a hope of rowing a skiff to land in this kind of weather. This storm feels massive – the last time I sailed in a storm this size, my ship sank.’

Zolf had never talked much about the shipwreck he’d lived through, except to say that it was the reason he started to serve Poseidon. Hamid shuddered, then bent lower over the bucket.

‘They might even be blown off course,’ Zolf added. ‘That would buy us some time. If they don’t sink.’

‘At least we aren’t chained up anymore,’ Azu said, voicing everyone’s thoughts.

A day later, and Zolf was sure they were off course.

‘We should have reached Dover by now,’ he said, ear pressed against the door of the hold, trying to hear anything useful from the sailors running around outside. ‘Something’s gone wrong. No one’s having a good time out there.’

‘We’re probably in the best place to wait out a storm like this, then.’ Hamid tried for optimism.

‘Until we start taking on water, yeah,’ Zolf agreed, distractedly. Hamid wished he hadn’t said anything.

The usual food delivery never came – they all sat and waited in silence, nervousness rising, as the ship rolled and shook around them. Water was slowly but surely dripping through the wooden hull, and more than once Hamid caught Zolf shooting the leaks very worried looks.

‘We need to get on deck,’ Zolf said. ‘We can’t stay down here.’

‘They’ll kill us!’ Hamid pointed out.

‘They’ll be busy with the storm. We need to go _now_.’

There was an almighty groan, then, the hull of the ship buckling under some unknown weight as the ship itself tipped violently to one side. A roar, loud and sonorous, echoed out clear and terrifying even over the deafening sounds of the wind and rain. Zolf went so pale that Hamid offered him the bucket.

‘What was that?’ Azu asked, as water began to pour into the hold with increased enthusiasm.

‘No idea, but we need to move!’ Zolf grabbed Hamid’s arm and began to tow him towards the door. ‘Leave the bucket, Hamid, you can vomit into the sea if you need to!’

The lower part of the ship was empty of sailors, though sounds of their shouts could be heard faintly above them. Hamid assumed it was all hands-on-deck.

‘The other sailors,’ Hamid said, remembering suddenly, stopping still and tugging Zolf in the opposite direction. ‘We can’t leave them down here! They’ll drown!’

Zolf heaved a great sigh.

‘Ok, but quickly!’ he shouted. Sasha was already at the door to the larger hold; it swung open to reveal five very pale, anxious faces. It didn’t take long for Grizzop to unlock their chains, though Zolf was shifting anxiously from foot to foot the entire time.

‘Come on, hurry!’ Azu called to them, chivvying them out into the passage. ‘Grizzop, I need my armour.’

‘Our stuff’s all this way,’ Grizzop called, already running up the stairs to the decks above. ‘Follow me!’

A quick trip to the storage room and they all grabbed their stuff, though Zolf forced Azu and Grizzop to put their armour into bags of holding along with his own scale armour, since it would take them too long to put it on properly. Sasha swung her leather jacket on in seconds, and Hamid merely blinked before her spring-loaded wrist-sheathes were back on her arms and daggers began disappearing about her person.

Hamid just tucked his locket safely into his clothes and shook out his now rather dirty and torn magic sleeves.

‘What’s the plan?’ he asked Zolf.

The roar sounded again, louder now they were higher up, and they all exchanged nervous looks.

‘This ship’s going down,’ Zolf said.

‘How-‘

‘I’ve been here before.’ Zolf cut across Azu’s question. ‘Not literally – this is what happened to my ship. The one that sank.’

Even as he spoke, the ship’s sides groaned and buckled further, and they were all thrown across the room. Hamid managed to catch himself on Azu, which was a softer landing than the wooden walls – unfortunately Grizzop slammed into his stomach right after, thoroughly winding him.

Zolf had caught himself on a nearby table – as with most things on the ship, it was bolted down. His eyes were wide and wild.

‘It’s some kind of monster – a sea monster that brings the storm with it,’ he said, having to shout over the rain and wind and screams of the pirates up on the deck. ‘It’s going to crush the ship and drag it down. We need to get to a lifeboat.’

‘What if it attacks the lifeboat?’ Sasha asked.

Zolf turned to her, face grave.

‘Hopefully it will be distracted by the ship,’ he said. ‘But other than that, all we have is prayer.’

A creaking groan, a loud crack, and several screams accompanied another violent lurch of the ship. This time Hamid caught himself on a shelf bracket and avoided being crushed by flying goblins.

‘We need to go. _Now_ ,’ Zolf said. ‘Follow me!’

They emerged from below-decks into a scene from nightmares. Two masts were snapped cleanly off, the sails half-draped across the decks and half in the water. The last mast was bending under the pressure of a large tentacle wrapped around it, the sails flapping violently in the strong winds. Even larger tentacles were lying across the deck itself, and even as they ran another crashed down behind them.

There were still sailors fighting, though there were bodies too, still attached to their guidelines, flopping limply with the motion of the ship. Hamid averted his eyes, though he felt no sympathy. If there had been no mutiny, they could have been half-way to the New World by now and far away from this sea monster.

‘Hurry!’ Azu called, as Sasha somersaulted nimbly over a tentacle and, grabbing Hamid’s arm, tugged him faster across the ship. Azu and Zolf, stronger and less affected by the winds, had already made it to a lifeboat and were straining to swing it over the gunwale. 

Hamid recognised that he would be of absolutely no help, so he held onto a nearby railing with Grizzop and Sasha and waited. The rain was cold and seemed to be mostly hail and lashed their faces. 

‘There’s something weird about those tentacles!’ Sasha shouted. She was right next to Hamid but only just audible. Through the rain Hamid squinted at the tentacles on the ship, and at the strange shine they had. Lightning cracked across the sky, and he stared more. There was something unnatural about them. Something inorganic.

‘Are those… metal?’ he yelled at Sasha, risking letting go with one hand and pointing at the nearest tentacle as it dragged across the deck, less than ten foot from them. 

‘It looks…’ she began, but her voice was drowned out by another spine-chilling roar.

With one last grunt of effort, the lifeboat was out over the gunwale and Zolf lowered it down.

‘Get in!’ he called, though Azu had already thrown her bag of armour aboard along with Grizzop, who she’d hoisted aloft by the scruff of his shirt and thrown bodily over the side. His protesting squawk was drowned out by the crash of the surf below and another creaking groan, coming from the ship. The last mast cracked like a lightning burst and finally fell under the weight of a tentacle, and a few more sailors were thrown screaming from the ship into the turbulent waters below. 

Hamid turned quickly back to the lifeboat.

‘Right! Time to go!’ he said, casting fly on himself and rising into the air even as Sasha flipped neatly into the lifeboat, landing as gracefully as a gymnast.

Too late, Hamid realised his mistake – fly was a good enough spell usually, but in high winds he was finding it almost impossible to control. One particularly strong gust sent him tumbling, and he overshot the lifeboat by a good few feet. Arms flailing, he tried to right himself, only for the wind to send him further spiralling down to the dark, churning sea.

Then he stopped, suddenly, as though frozen in space – he looked up, breath coming in short, sharp panicked gulps, to see the lifeboat being lowered towards him, Zolf leaning over the side with his hand outstretched.

Hamid caught it and dropped his own spell, and he hung in the air, suspended, until Zolf, with Sasha’s help, pulled him back over the boat. Only then did he fall into the boat itself, as Zolf dropped his levitation spell.

‘Sorry, that was – I didn’t think,’ Hamid said, breathlessly.

‘No, you didn’t.’ Zolf sounded angry, but he looked too relieved to really mean it.

‘Nice catch,’ Sasha said, tugging Hamid down to one of the benches. 

‘Everyone in?’ Azu asked. Everyone shouted their affirmations – Grizzop a little sulkily – and Azu released the ropes attaching them to the ship. They plummeted down around ten foot before hitting the water with a mighty splash.

‘Quick!’ Zolf cried, handing out oars. ‘Get rowing!’

Azu and Sasha took control of the rowing, while Zolf took the tiller. Hamid and Grizzop just held on as the huge waves sent them up into the air and crashing down with almighty force Hamid scanned the water for tentacles, but they mostly seemed to be wrapped around the ship, determined to wrap all around it and pull it below the surface. Hamid tried not to imagine what the sea monster looked like below the surface.

‘I think we’ve made it!’ Hamid called, as they got a little further away and the waves seemed to calm down.

Looking back, Hamid wished he hadn’t tempted fate in such a bold way.

A tentacle burst from the waves, reared into the sky, and crashed down hard onto the centre of their skiff. The small wooden boat burst into two halves, sending all of them spinning into the water.

Something hard hit Hamid on the head, and he slipped under the water, vision already going dark. The last thing he heard was Zolf’s voice, screaming into the sky. Screaming to Poseidon.

*

Hamid slowly came back to awareness with the sound of waves gently lapping a shore. He kept his eyes shut, wondering if he was in the afterlife. He’d never followed any particular god – just visited the temples occasionally and hoped for the best. 

Maybe the water was the sound of the Styx. Maybe he was lying on the shore of the river to the Underworld. The ground was soft beneath him, shifting under his weight. He dug his hands down – it was sand.

A seagull called overhead, and Hamid lay still and listened to the gentle roar of the surf. If this was the afterlife, it was peaceful, at least.

‘Hamid?’ a familiar voice said, above him. ‘Hamid, you awake?’

‘Sasha?’ Hamid cracked open an eyelid. Sasha was a dark silhouette against the bright sky. ‘Are you dead too?’

‘What? Hamid, come on – get up.’

Hands pushed at his shoulders – Hamid grumbled but levered himself upright with his elbows. His whole body felt like a bruise. He didn’t think anything was supposed to hurt once you were dead.

‘Come on, we’re building a fire further up the beach,’ Sasha said, giving him a gentle shove.

Hamid blinked, then, and opened his eyes further. He was on a quiet, sandy beach, the sea gently lapping at the shore. Gulls wheeled overhead. The sky was blue, and clear of clouds. The storm had passed.

He stumbled to his feet, and walked slowly, aching all over, to where the others were building a small fire.

Zolf smiled at him as he approached.

‘Morning, sleeping beauty,’ he said.

‘We were going to move you, but you looked so peaceful,’ Azu cooed. ‘We thought we’d let you sleep it off naturally.’

‘How… how are we not all dead?’ Hamid asked, his brain just one big fuzz. Everyone looked hale and hearty, if a little shaken. They even had their bags of stuff. 

Zolf grinned.

‘I prayed,’ he said, ‘and god answered. Turns out the storm had blown us close to shore, and Poseidon sent us dolphins to get us there after our boat was destroyed.’

‘Dolphins?’ Hamid was incredulous – dolphins weren’t exactly native to the south of England. Zolf just shrugged, his hands outstretched.

‘Gods,’ he said. ‘Anyway, we were lucky. We only lost one bag.’

Hamid looked around; Azu was back in her glowing pink armour, which she had looked small and strange without. Grizzop had his bow strapped to his back, also with his armour back on. But Zolf was still in just his regular clothes, and his trident was nowhere to be seen.

‘Oh, yeah. Sorry, Hamid,’ he said, looking guilty, ‘I lost the manuscript you gave me.’

‘Oh, that’s… fine,’ Hamid said, confused at the apology. ‘It was a present – I didn’t expect you to give it back or anything.’

‘I’d already read it,’ Zolf added, hurriedly. ‘And it would have even been waterproof in the bag of holding. But Poseidon decided that I had to sacrifice my bag in payment for the favour.’

‘Zolf, it’s fine,’ Hamid said. ‘I’d much rather we were all alive. I’m sorry _you_ lost your stuff, though.’

‘Ah, it’s fine. A small price to pay, really.’

Hamid hummed his agreement, then looked up and down the beach.

‘Do we have any idea where we are?’ he asked. It didn’t look like Dover, thought to be honest all Hamid knew of Dover was the white cliffs.

‘Probably France, somewhere.’ Zolf poked the fire. ‘Judging from how big the storm was, and how far off-course the ship was sent.’

‘I’ve always wanted to go to France,’ Sasha commented idly, staring into the nascent flames. ‘Brock was in Paris, for a while. He sent me a postcard with the big tower in it.’

‘It’s nice,’ Hamid said, ‘though a little overpriced.’

Everyone looked at him, and he shrugged. ‘What? It is!’

‘There’s an important harlequin headquarters in Eiffel’s Folly,’ Zolf added, ‘which is probably where Brock was. We could go there, get some help.’

No one had any other plans – Hamid was used to working undercover in London, where he had all his stuff and his connections and his flat. Here, out in the wild with nothing but the clothes on his back, he had no idea what to do next.

‘Maybe they can get us to the New World from there,’ Sasha said. ‘They’ve got airships and stuff. That’s how Brock got there. He told me all about it.’

‘So, we just need to get to Paris.’ Hamid heaved a sigh. ‘We’ll need to go inland and find a road, hitch a ride. We’re probably pretty far away.’

‘We’ll be pretty conspicuous,’ Grizzop said, looking around at their very distinctive group. Azu’s armour was gently pulsing light.

‘They won’t know we survived the wreck, yet,’ Zolf pointed out. ‘I highly doubt anyone else survived to tell them. For the moment, they won’t be actively looking for us.’

‘It’ll buy us some time, but this is the meritocrats we’re talking about,’ Hamid said. ‘There’s a reason they’re in charge.’

‘Even meritocrats aren’t omniscient.’ Sasha pointed at Hamid. ‘Exhibit number one. How long have you been hiding your dragonyness?’

‘Fair point.’ Hamid took off his magic sleeves and draped them over a nearby branch, near the fire, so they could dry off a little. His clothes felt salt-stiff and his skin was sticky with seawater, but the fire was warm in the chill air of the seaside. Luckily, his magic sleeves had fared pretty well.

‘When do we want to move?’ Azu asked.

No one spoke for a minute – they knew they were all thinking the same thing. If the others felt anything as bad as Hamid did – his whole body felt like one big bruise – then no one particularly wanted to get moving. But they only had limited time until the meritocrat agents caught their trail, and they knew it.

‘We should get moving once we’re dry,’ Zolf said, eventually, unclipping his peg leg with a stifled groan. ‘Make the most of the time we’ve got.’

‘It’ll be dark in a few hours,’ Azu pointed out, looking at the sun which was already low in the sky and sinking slowly behind the treeline.

‘Good. We’ll be less noticeable in the dark,’ Zolf said. Grizzop shot a rather slanted look at Azu’s armour but said nothing.

Night fell fast, and the air grew colder still. They reluctantly threw sand over their small fire and started moving into the woods, off the beach, in the search for civilisation. They came across a small town, lit with winter solstice lights, relatively quickly. 

‘There – we can ask around in there,’ Hamid said, pointing at a bustling pub. It looked quite fancy, so Hamid changed his magic sleeves to make his clothes look fresh and clean and not salt-stained and torn. He adjusted his locket and led the others inside.

It was warm and welcoming in the bar, with the smell of spiced wine and rich, meaty food heavy in the air. Everyone’s stomachs rumbled in harmony.

‘I’ll go order some food,’ Hamid said, turning to the others.

‘We’ll go find a table,’ Zolf said, chivvying Sasha and Azu away.

Hamid took a second to collect himself, before striding confidently up to the bar and employing his most charismatic smile.

‘Good evening!’ he said, in fluent French. ‘My friends and I – our carriage broke down on the road just outside town – would you mind telling us where we are?’

The barman – a middle-aged Frenchman with an impressive moustache – looked him up and down, suspicion blooming on his face, so Hamid slid a few gold coins across the counter and turned up the wattage on his smile.

‘Oh, and a few carafes of house wine and five daily specials, please,’ he added.

The barman’s face softened.

‘This is Le Touquet,’ he said, pride on his face. ‘Famous for our golf!’

‘Oh, of course,’ Hamid said politely.

The food was excellent, and the wine even more so, and for an hour or so Hamid allowed himself to relax and forget that there was a death sentence on his head. To everyone’s great surprise, Sasha could speak fluent French and had already started making friends with the barman, and he brought them over extra food and drink.

‘Now we just need to find a way to Paris,’ Zolf said, once the food had been made quick work of. ‘Tonight, preferably.’

Their answer arrived half an hour later; the sounds of revving engines and squealing brakes announced the arrival of two elderly female women, wearing driving goggles loosely around their grey, wind-tousled hair and, to Hamid’s expert eye, expensive designer clothes. Grizzop snuck a look out of the window and confirmed that the women had arrived in a motor car each – specifically fast, roofless motor cars. Sasha had her face pressed up against the window, eyes wide as she stared at the motor cars. The carriage they’d used to get to Heathrow, and then from Heathrow to Dover, had been a large, clunky model, built to take small groups of people from street to street in London. These cars were on a whole different level – they looked like they were made to go fast.

‘Can we go on those?’ Sasha said, so close to the window that her breath fogged up the glass.

‘Right,’ Hamid said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Sasha – with me. Let’s get ourselves a ride.’

Hamid was very confident in his looks. It wasn’t arrogance so much as he knew how to work with what he had. He would never be the tallest, but he could be the most put-together and handsome face in a venue. He always had been – at least, before the scales had started to spread. But with the locket on, his magic sleeves making his shipwrecked clothes a little more palatable for public consumption, and Sasha employed as his foil, he set out to do some serious flirting.

The women obviously saw right through him, though they flirted almost too-good-naturedly back, fussing over both him and Sasha with clear delight.

‘So, if you wouldn’t mind giving me and my friends a lift, we’d be ever so grateful,’ he said, his voice sickly sweet.

‘Well, we would be going to Paris eventually,’ one of them said, chucking Hamid on the cheek. ‘Maybe we could make it… more interesting.’

‘Oh ho, a race!’ said the other. ‘That sounds delightful!’

Zolf chose that moment to come stomping over, his face stony and rather disgruntled. Hamid jabbed him in the ribs with his sharp elbows, to try and make him look a little more approachable.

‘Oooh, I want to take _you_ with me,’ the first woman squealed, leaning in to squeeze Zolf’s bicep. Hamid had to stifle his giggles at Zolf’s horrified face. ‘I do so love the strong and silent type! Bagsie this one!’

‘You can’t have both!’ the other one complained.

The old women had a minor tussle about who got to take who in their cars, and in the end it was decided that Sasha and Zolf would ride with one, and Hamid, Azu, and Grizzop with the other.

It was something of a ride of terror, on the winding roads in the dark, with the two women really taking the spirit of the race to extremes. Hamid just clung on grimly and thanked the gods he wasn’t on a sinking ship anymore.

‘You guys can go,’ he shouted to Grizzop, an hour into the journey. ‘You don’t have to come with me for this. Once we go to the Harlequins it’ll be too late to turn back.’

Grizzop stared at him for a few seconds, so long that Hamid worried that he hadn’t heard over the motor car engine and the rush of the wind.

‘I said-‘

‘I heard,’ Grizzop yelled back. ‘You’re just being idiotic, as usual. We made our choice when we got onto that ship – the meritocrats will already know that we’re on your side. And even if there was a chance to turn back, we wouldn’t do it now. Right, Azu?’

‘Pardon?’ Azu yelled, her height meaning she didn’t get any of the meagre shelter the windscreen offered.

‘We’re not going to leave Hamid now!’ Grizzop yelled back.

‘No! Of course not!’

Hamid sniffed, trying not to cry.

‘Thanks, guys,’ he said.

Grizzop, uncharacteristically, patted him on the shoulder.

‘Besides,’ he said, ‘there’s clearly a whole conspiracy here. We can’t just walk away from that.’ His yellow eyes gleamed with manic excitement.

Hamid’s motor car reached Paris in good time – they’d long since lost sight of Zolf and Sasha’s. The woman drove to the restaurant her and her friend had made the finish line of their impromptu race and rapidly got herself a table and some champagne.

‘Celebrate with me!’ she cried, gesturing to Azu and Grizzop excitedly. ‘It’s all paid for by the loser!’

‘We should wait for the others,’ Azu said, peering worriedly into the distance.

‘It might be better to do that inside the restaurant,’ Hamid pointed out, ‘so we aren’t obvious on the street.’

‘Hamid? Is that _you_?’ a voice boomed from across the road.

Hamid froze, and then heaved a great sigh.

‘It _is_ you!’

‘Bertie!’ he hissed, hurrying over to the large man and dragging him down by the top of his breastplate.

‘Hey, steady on-‘

‘Bertie, be quiet,’ Hamid forced through gritted teeth.

‘What _are_ you doing here?’ Bertie asked, in his normal indoor voice, which was only a modicum louder than most others’ shout volume. ‘I thought you’ve be halfway to the New World by now!’

‘There was a bit of an issue with the crew,’ Hamid said, quickly, ‘and then we were… look, it’s a long story, and if you want to know then follow me.’

Bertie did, in fact, follow him into the restaurant, where Azu and Grizzop were already waiting worriedly inside.

‘So, what happened?’ Bertie asked, reverting to his usual volume. ‘Where’s Mr Smith and the young lady?’

‘They’re on their way – or, they should be,’ Hamid added. ‘The crew mutinied, to sell us out to the meritocrat agents, and then we shipwrecked in the storm-‘

‘Oh yes, that storm. The chunnel flooded, don’t you know,’ Bertie said. ‘The train stopped halfway. I had to get out and walk the rest of it!’

‘You… what?’ Hamid shook his head. ‘Look, is Wilde with you?’

Bertie shrugged.

‘He was supposed to meet me here, but I haven’t found him yet – I don’t think he made it over on the train before they closed the tunnel down.’

Hamid swore. ‘Where were you supposed to meet him?’ Hamid asked. ‘Where in Paris?’

Bertie frowned, thinking hard.

‘Oh, usually I just wait for him to turn up,’ he said, waving a careless hand. Hamid groaned out loud.

‘That’s not helpful, Bertie,’ he growled. 

Zolf and Sasha didn’t arrive until much later, full of stories about their crash and having to hitch a ride on a vegetable cart.

‘It was fun,’ Sasha said, brightly, looking a lot more animated than Zolf.

‘Well, what now?’ Grizzop asked.

‘Oh no,’ Zolf said, when he spotted Bertie.

‘It’s ok, he didn’t know we were here,’ Hamid explained. ‘He’s meant to be meeting Wilde here.’

‘I wouldn’t put it past Wilde to know that we were already here,’ Zolf said, lowly. ‘Where’s Wilde?’

Hamid sighed.

‘He doesn’t know.’

‘Oh, brilliant.’

‘Hello, Mr Smith!’ Bertie boomed.

‘We should get to Eiffel’s folly,’ Sasha said, ignoring Bertie entirely. ‘Get to other harlequins. They’ll know what to do.’

‘Now?’ Hamid looked outside – it was getting towards midnight, and the restaurant staff were looking impatient. The elderly woman who’d won the bet had already drunk almost a whole bottle of champagne to herself and was falling asleep on the table, while her friend was settling the bill at the bar.

‘We don’t have much choice.’ Zolf frowned at him. ‘Maybe you should turn invisible for a bit.’

‘We’ll still be very conspicuous.’ They all looked at Azu, who sighed heavily. 

‘I’ll take it off,’ she said, mournfully.

*

They made their way as stealthily through the streets of Paris as they could manage. Sasha vanished into the shadows without a word. Hamid, invisible, stayed close to Azu and Zolf, who were the two least stealthy people in the world – apart from maybe Bertie. Bertie, on finding out their destination, had taken himself off to a fancy hotel instead. Hamid was secretly relieved – Bertie could be a lot to manage, and Hamid already had enough to deal with.

Eiffel’s Folly wasn’t hard to get to – it rose out of the Paris skyline like a jagged point, and even in the early morning hours it was lit with warm yellow lights and was clearly bustling with activity, like a huge ant hill.

‘The headquarters is right at the top,’ Zolf whispered to the group, as they approached the fence surrounding the shanty town. There were guards at the entrance, though they weren’t wearing the official Paris police uniform.

Both Zolf and Sasha – who appeared mysteriously out of the shadows and joined the group as they approached – showed the guards their rings. The guards nodded, though they sent Azu and Grizzop shifty looks. Hamid was just relieved he was still invisible. He doubted that they would have let an al Tahan in their harlequin headquarters, even if he took his locket off and showed his scales.

‘You still there, Hamid?’ Zolf whispered, as they passed into the Folly proper and headed straight towards the centre.

Hamid didn’t say anything but gave Zolf’s wrist a squeeze. Zolf nodded, the movement so minute Hamid might have missed it if he hadn’t been looking. Then, quick as a snake, Zolf grabbed Hamid’s hand and squeezed back.

Hamid was also glad that the invisibility hid his blush.

Another flash of their rings, this time with Zolf name-dropping Wilde, and the guard at the elevator beckoned them inside.

‘I guess it’s top floor?’ Zolf called, even as the guard shut the metal grate on them from the outside.

Sasha shrugged, and pressed the top button.

Hamid’s invisibility wore off halfway up the tower, but luckily no one seemed to look at the lift as it passed, until they reached the very top. The lift dinged as it lurched to a halt, and the gratings were slid aside by the top-level guards.

‘Rings.’ They demanded, and Sasha and Zolf helpfully held out their hands.

The stares of the guards slid over Azu and Grizzop, clearly not impressed at the extra bodies without harlequin rings – and rested on Hamid.

In two seconds, Hamid found himself on the sharp end of two swords, even as Sasha and Zolf shouted at the guards to stand down.

‘He works with Wilde!’ Zolf yelled, trying to physically insert himself between Hamid and the swords. Azu was trying to do exactly the same, and they clashed in the centre.

‘The meritocrats want him dead,’ Sasha added. ‘Brock knows!’ 

The guards took a step back, though they kept their swords raised.

‘Get Wilde,’ said the larger one, eyes still boring into Zolf’s. The smaller scurried off, even as Hamid sighed in relief. Wilde was in Paris, and he was safe.

The man himself came hurrying down the corridor less than a minute later, looking very un-Wilde-like. Hamid had thought that Wilde had looked flustered at Dover, with his frantic eyes and hair a mess, but the Wilde in front of him now looked like he hadn’t slept since then. His skin was pale, his cheeks gaunt, his usually fine and flowing hair lank and greasy, and the bags under his eyes were practically purple.

He scanned them all, face blank, as though he couldn’t quite process exactly what he was seeing.

‘You’re… here. In Paris,’ he said.

Zolf snorted.

‘Good spot, trigger.’

Hamid jabbed his elbow into Zolf’s ribs for the second time in less than five hours.

‘How did you… no matter.’ Wilde scrubbed his hands over his face. ‘We need to get you out of here. We don’t have long until you’re discovered, and there are delicate operations going on in Paris that we can’t risk being found out.’

‘Look, we didn’t mean to ruin anything by coming here,’ Hamid said, ‘we just didn’t know where to go, after we _washed up on the beach_.’

‘No; you did the right thing.’ Wilde sucked in a breath, then dismissed the guards. ‘You need to go to the aeroport – I have an ally waiting there, ready to take certain goods out of Paris.’

‘A smuggler?’ Grizzop asked, frowning.

‘A harlequin. Who also is a smuggler,’ Wilde amended.

They all looked around at each other; Hamid didn’t really think they had another choice.

‘I’ll call down ahead to get a motor car for you,’ Wilde said, already turning away, wiping his hand over his face. ‘You should go, now, before they trace you here.’

‘Ok, great,’ Zolf said, already heading into the lift. 

‘Oh, Hamid?’

Hamid turned at Wilde’s voice, and only just managed to catch the small stone Wilde tossed his way.

‘Luckily I hadn’t got around to sending this off,’ Wilde said, winking, showing for a second his old nature beneath his tired face.

Hamid looked at the mobile stone in his hands, the twin of which rested silent in Saira’s safe, and felt a small wave of peace wash over him – the most peace he’d felt since boarding the ship at Dover.

‘Thank you,’ he said, trying to put as much emotion as possible behind his words. Wilde nodded – seemingly understanding the depth of Hamid’s gratitude.

Hamid turned, and followed the others into the lift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a confession - in the original version of this fic, Zolf flat-out said 'I love you' at Dover. On reading it through, I just felt like it was a very un-Zolf-like thing to say, so I changed it. I always think of Zolf having very strong emotions but being utterly hopeless at actually talking about them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

A motor car was already waiting for them outside of Eiffel’s Folly, with a grumpy gnome leaning on its outside.

‘I hate cars,’ Azu groaned. ‘They’re too small.’ Then she muttered something incomprehensible about camels being better.

The motor car drove them to the aeroport without issue, though the driver did pull into a small, dark alley for a minute or so to change the car plates.

‘Meritocrat plates,’ he grunted at Hamid, when he asked. ‘We’ll be let right into the aeroport no question.’

Which was handy, since none of them had any travel documents to speak of.

The aeroport was full of airships of all shapes and sizes – their driver headed straight for the one that was bustling with activity, and clearly readying to leave. Another gnome, this one with a large captain’s hat adorned with large decorative feathers, swung down to meet them.

‘You’re the ones Wilde sent, right?’ she said, her accent something foreign and unusual. Hamid could see a pistol in her belt and realised that she was a separatist.

‘That’s us,’ Hamid agreed. ‘Thank you for taking us at such short notice.’

‘Not really given any choice,’ she said. ‘But regardless – any harlequin is a friend of mine.’ She flashed her ring, and Hamid felt very conscious of his own lack of ring.

‘We’re still very grateful,’ Azu assured her. The gnome craned her neck to look up at Azu’s full height, and she looked somewhat nonplussed.

‘You’re a lopsided bunch, aren’t you!’ she said. 

‘I guess so,’ Azu admitted.

‘Well, come on, then! We don’t have all day!’

They walked up the slanted walkway, and onto the deck of the airship proper. Beside him, Hamid could feel Sasha practically vibrating in excitement.

‘Do you steer?’ she asked the Captain, the words bursting out of her as though she couldn’t have contained them any longer. The Captain gave her an amused smile.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘I’d be a poor Captain if I couldn’t steer my own ship!’

‘Could you… show me?’

The Captain looked at Sasha consideringly. 

‘Sure,’ she said, with a grin. ‘Why not! But let’s get airborne first, right? STATIONS!’ She bellowed the last word so loudly that Hamid flinched away, and the bustling motion on the airship suddenly took on a certain panicked urgency. A gnome came by and attached them all to guidelines, quickly and efficiently. 

Hamid turned to Zolf, though he looked markedly uncomfortable.

‘It’s not natural,’ he muttered, even as they were told to hold on. ‘Ships shouldn’t be in the air.’

‘This is amazing!’ Sasha yelled, pure carefree excitement on her face, as the nearby sailors called down to the aeroport workers to release the ropes and they began to slowly ascend.

The Captain was at the wheel, her hat feathers flapping in the wind, her goggles on. She was whooping as they gathered speed and started to sail into the sky.

Sasha whooped along with her and the crew. Azu’s eyes were wide as dinnerplates as Paris stretched out below them. Zolf’s hands were gripping a nearby rope with white knuckles – his face went green, and he sank to the floor. They went further up until the clouds began to obscure the city below, covering the glittering Seine and the sprawling buildings.

‘The Sacré Coeur!’ Azu called, pointing as they flew over the famous temple of Aphrodite. Hamid could see the famous cemetery, Pere Lachaise, just before they disappeared into the cloud line and then the whole of Paris vanished from view.

Once the airship levelled out, Sasha bounded excitedly over to the Captain. 

‘Can I have a go?’ she asked.

‘Where are we going?’ Hamid asked, out of breath chasing after Sasha.

The Captain shot them all an appraising look.

‘Wilde didn’t tell you?’

‘We were in a bit of a rush to leave,’ Hamid admitted. ‘I think we almost accidentally ruined his plans.’

‘Well, we’re to Prague, first, then onwards to Rome,’ she said, flippantly.

Hamid choked – Grizzop smacked his back in an attempt to be helpful.

‘Rome?’ he gasped, winded from Grizzop’s ‘help’.

The Captain grinned, pulling up her goggles.

‘Welcome aboard the Canary! Captain Amelia Earhart, at your service.’

‘Hamid Saleh – ‘ Hamid cut himself off just in time, before revealing his whole name. 

Captain Earhart looked at him strangely, but luckily Sasha distracted her.

‘Sasha Rackett,’ she said, only a little sullen.

‘Sasha! I’ve heard about you, from Eldarion! How is she?’

Sasha shrugged.

‘Dunno. We haven’t spoken for a while.’

‘Ah, pity.’ Earhart stepped away from the wheel and gestured elaborately at it. ‘Want a go?’

Sasha’s eyes lit up.

After the first barrel roll, Hamid decided he’d rather go below decks, especially when it started to rain. It was colder, so high up, and he felt miserable. Still, he felt practically buoyant compared to Zolf, who had to be coaxed back onto his feet and down below with the help of Azu and Grizzop. 

It was better, below; Hamid found it much the same as on an actual ship, though he said nothing to Zolf. Zolf looked like he was having a bad time.

Sasha bounded in a little later, looking blissfully happy.

‘Captain Earhart’s invited us to dinner in her quarters, with the other passengers,’ she said, grinning from ear to ear. It was the most emotion Hamid had ever seen Sasha display.

Zolf was a little shaky on his feet, but with Azu and Hamid’s help – though Hamid’s help was more moral support than actual, physical support – they made it to Captain Earhart’s quarters without any major incidents. Sasha bounded along ahead of them, still flying high from her short-lived, exciting attempt at flying the airship. Hamid sincerely hoped that the Captain wouldn’t give her another go – he didn’t think Zolf’s constitution could take another barrel roll.

Sasha barged into the Captain’s quarters without knocking, so Hamid rapped his knuckles on the door frame as they entered, in an attempt to be a little polite.

‘Come in, come in!’ the Captain said, beaming at all of them in turn, in that offensively effusive way that all New Worlders seemed to share. ‘Good to see you upright, Mr Smith!’

Zolf just stared at her balefully.

Hamid glanced around the room – they were spacious quarters, but not particularly luxurious, and most of the available surfaces were covered in cogs and machinery parts. There was a pile of machine innards swept into a corner of the room, and Hamid suspected that they had previously been on the large, scratched wooden table that was now laid for dinner.

There were two other guests, both already sitting at the table and watching as Hamid and the rest of his motley crew filed into the room. Both of them were much too tall for the room and were folded up almost comically to sit in the chairs that were much more of a size for the Captain or Hamid. One was an orc, tall as Azu but slender where Azu was broad, with a rather impressive scar across his mouth that lifted his lips to reveal a hint of sharp teeth. Despite his wild appearance – and even wilder black hair – he had an open, handsome face. Hamid saw that he had ink stains on his fingers, and guessed he was more of an academic type.

The other guest was a man, built along the same lines as Bertie, in the shining armour of a paladin of Apollo. He was even blonde and attractive, though while Bertie’s face often wore a sneer, his face was open and happy, which Hamid had to admit made him look even more handsome.

‘Good to have you here,’ Earhart said, gesturing to them all to sit down. ‘These are your fellow passengers; we’re taking them all the way to Rome.’

‘Tjelvar Stornsnasson,’ said the orc. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

The plummy accent took Hamid by surprise – then he felt guilty for being surprised.

‘Hamid,’ he said, reaching over to shake Tjelvar’s much larger hand – Zolf was still faffing with his leg, while Azu and Sasha were folding themselves up to fit at the gnome-sized table. 

‘Edward Keystone,’ said the paladin, with a shining smile. It really was very attractive; Hamid heard Azu give a little sigh above him. He caught the eye of Tjelvar, who had a smirk playing on his scarred lips. 

‘Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam,’ Grizzop said loudly, leaning over the table to shake both their hands, his tiny hand engulfed by both of theirs.

Azu, usually so loud and present, practically whispered her name when she shook Edward’s hand. Hamid held in a chuckle.

Captain Earhart waited impatiently for the introductions to get over with before ordering a nearby gnome to bring the food in. It was an impressive selection, and Sasha’s eyes were as large as the dinner plates. 

‘So, you’re going to Rome?’ Hamid asked, surrounded by the sounds of his friends enthusiastically chewing.

Tjelvar nodded.

‘Yes; for my research,’ he said. 

‘He’s a really important archaeologist,’ Edward butted in, excitedly. ‘He found Hannibal’s tomb!’

‘Yes, thank you, Eddie,’ Tjelvar said.

‘Oh, you’re _that_ archaeologist!’ Hamid beamed. ‘My friend went with you – Bertie!’

‘Ah yes, Sir Bertrand.’ Tjelvar’s face held the haunted look that most of Bertie’s acquaintances wore when reminiscing about him. ‘Yes, he was very… helpful.’

‘I’m sure he was,’ Zolf grunted, reaching for the potatoes. 

‘This is a lovely meal, Captain Earhart,’ Hamid said.

‘Anything for the Spades,’ she replied, nodding at Zolf. 

‘Ah. Of course.’ Zolf looked distinctly uncomfortable, and pulled the hand wearing the harlequin ring away to tuck it under the table. The atmosphere was a little stilted, so Hamid took it upon himself to break the tension.

‘What are you looking for, in Rome?’ he asked, as a diversion, though he found he was also genuinely interested in the response.

Tjelvar opened his mouth but was beaten to the punch by Edward.

‘Cult of Mars stuff! From before Rome’s destruction,’ he exclaimed excitedly, almost sending a tureen of carrots flying.

‘Oh. Wow,’ Hamid said. ‘And… and the meritocrats are… letting you?’

‘Not exactly,’ Tjelvar said, slowly. ‘Officially, for Cambridge, I’m tracking Hannibal’s movements in the hopes I’ll find out more about him.’

‘And unofficially?’ Grizzop asked.

‘Well, it was unlikely that I would get funding for research so close to Rome – especially since I actually intend to go past the boundary and have a better look at Rome’s history, and the history of the Cult of Mars.’

‘So, the harlequins are funding you?’ Azu asked, sounding confused.

‘No; Wilde’s the main funder, actually,’ Tjelvar said. ‘But we’re very grateful to the harlequins for providing transportation.’

‘And I’m his assistant,’ Edward said, puffing his chest out proudly.

Hamid wondered how Bertie had managed to keep his hands off of Edward – handsome as the sun and dumb as a rock, he must have been like catnip to him. Then he saw the look of adoration that Edward sent towards Tjelvar, and understood a little more.

‘Where are you all heading?’ Tjelvar asked, looking from Hamid to Zolf to Azu, clearly trying to reconcile their odd group in his mind. Hamid just shrugged.

‘Out of Paris, mainly,’ Zolf offered, since Sasha and Grizzop were too busy eating to reply and Azu still seemed to be dazed by Edward’s radiance. ‘Then I guess we’ll work it out as we go along.’

‘We could go to Rome too,’ Hamid suggested.

Zolf looked at him as though he had said something certifiably insane.

‘You want to go to the place where the meritocrats don’t want anyone to go to – the one guarded by the _cult of Mars_?’

Hamid shrugged again.

‘It’s not like they’ll expect me to do that,’ he said.

‘It’s a completely mad thing to do, that’s why!’

‘They won’t be looking for me there!’ Hamid felt a bit annoyed – Zolf was treating him like he was an idiot, or a child.

‘It’s guarded by the _Cult of Mars_ , Hamid. They so much as catch a whiff of you and you’re toast! They have a direct line to the meritocrats!’

‘Well, what else can we do?’ Hamid’s voice was rising in both tone and volume now, to match Zolf’s intensity. ‘Just hang about in Prague until they hunt us down again?’

‘That’s a better idea than _going to Rome_ ,’ Zolf practically yelled.

‘As fun as this is,’ the Captain’s voice cut through their argument sharply, ‘we are trying to eat dinner here, gentlemen.’

‘Sorry,’ Hamid said, shamefaced. He realised he’d stood up in order to shout directly into Zolf’s face, and promptly sat down again.

Edward was staring across at them, wide-eyed – Tjelvar had apparently become bored and was tucking into the food.

‘Sorry,’ Hamid said again.

*

‘What was _that_?’ Grizzop squeaked, later, when they’d gone back to their quarters. Since there were so few passengers on board – this not being the most legal of voyages – they had a room to themselves, with Edward and Tjelvar somewhere on the other side of the ship.

‘What was what?’ Zolf asked, acidly.

‘That little lover’s spat you two had!’ Grizzop pointed accusatorily between the two of them with a sharp fingernail. ‘So professional!’

‘I didn’t know that fleeing for our lives was a _work trip_ ,’ Zolf snapped.

‘Guys, please,’ Sasha said, trying to stand between them.

‘Yeah, Grizzop, it’s my fault,’ Hamid said tiredly. He slumped down onto his bed. The locket swung out from his shirt, an ever-present reminder of the death sentence that hung over his head. That, no doubt, hung over all their heads. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken for the group like that.’

‘Going to Rome does sound cool,’ Sasha said. Zolf shot her a look, but it slid off her like water off a duck’s back. ‘It’s that or Prague, after all.’

‘We could help Edward and Tjelvar,’ Azu pointed out, smiling happily. ‘What if they find something useful about your condition, Hamid?’

Hamid doubted the answer to his genetic disease lay in the ruins of Rome, but he couldn’t fault Azu’s enthusiasm. 

‘There’s clearly something in Rome the meritocrats don’t want anyone to find out about, or they wouldn’t have the Cult of Mars guarding the border,’ Sasha pointed out.

‘Or they’re there to stop idiots from wandering in and dying on a cursed, blasted heath,’ Zolf said.

‘Since when are you on the meritocrats’ side?’ Sasha frowned at him.

Zolf just harrumphed and threw his hands up in the air.

‘You’ve all gone mad,’ he said, mainly to the ceiling. ‘You’ve all gone _insane_.’

‘I’m going to Rome,’ Hamid said, decisively. He’d been thinking about it since the disaster of a dinner, and the more he did, the more it felt right. He didn’t want to go to Prague – it held too many bad memories, and besides, he wouldn’t be able to stay long. His life would just be running from one place to another, waiting for Wilde’s instructions, evading the meritocrats. The only light at the end of the tunnel would be fleeing to the New World, far away from his family and everything he knew. And the last time he’d attempted that, it had hardly gone to plan.

In Rome, though – it was dangerous, and supposedly empty. No meritocrat agents looking for him. He could be useful, helping the archaeologist. He could learn more about his heritage. He might even gain a little bit of agency.

‘I’m going to Rome,’ he said, again, firmer. He looked directly at Zolf. ‘You guys are free to get off at Prague, if you’d rather.’

Zolf stared right back.

‘Maybe I will,’ was all he said, before he stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

There was absolute silence, eventually broken by Sasha’s whistle.

‘Wow,’ she said, ‘what’s got into Zolf?’

‘I’m coming to Rome with you, Hamid,’ Azu said. She put her large, warm hand on Hamid’s shoulder, and pulled him into a gentle hug. Azu always smelt of rosewater and of Cairo, and Hamid relaxed a little.

‘Me too, Hamid,’ Grizzop said, patting his back with his much smaller hand. ‘I’ve come this far. And besides, the temple in Prague won’t have room for me anymore.’

When Hamid looked up, Sasha had vanished. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

*

He found her later – or, more accurately, Sasha found him.

‘Zolf’s sulking in the galley,’ she said, into the silence. The rain had abated, and now the sun had gone down there was a beautiful view of the stars. Hamid had been standing near the prow of the ship, clipped on to the safety line, admiring the view.

‘Oh. Ok.’

Hamid sighed – his breath was a cloud in the cold air. Sasha shivered beside him.

‘How long have you been out here?’ she asked. ‘It’s bloody freezing!’

‘Oh, not long,’ Hamid said. ‘A couple of hours,’ he amended. ‘Maybe longer.’ 

He hadn’t noticed the cold. He wondered if that was another facet of his curse – he’d felt like he’d felt the cold in London, but he realised he’d never actually felt the need to bring out his winter coat from storage. It was still in his wardrobe, in his flat in London. Hamid wondered if he’d ever go back. He dipped his hand into his pocket and held onto the mobile stone tightly.

‘Zolf didn’t mean it,’ Sasha said, into the silence. ‘He’s just worried.’

‘I know,’ Hamid sighed. ‘But I meant it.’ He turned to Sasha. ‘He’s welcome to disembark in Prague. I won’t hold it against him. Or you,’ he added.

‘I was always so jealous of Brock getting to travel, and do all sorts of cool things, while I was stuck in London and Other London,’ Sasha said. Hamid blinked at the non-sequitur.

‘Okay,’ he said, warily.

Sasha turned to him, a cheeky grin on her face.

‘He’ll be sick as a frog when he finds out I’ve steered an airship _and_ gone to Rome,’ she crowed. ‘I’ll bring him back some Roman artefact. Tjelvar said there’s probably going to be loads lying about, coins and such, since no one’s been allowed in for so long. That beats the trousers off a shitty postcard with Eiffel’s Folly on it.’

‘It really does,’ Hamid agreed. He looked sideways at Sasha – she wasn’t a very tactile person, but Hamid really wanted to hug her, and so he did. She didn’t move away, and even put up with it for a few seconds, as she patted him gently on the back.

‘I am sorry about all this,’ Hamid said, thickly.

‘We were already wrapped up in it,’ Sasha said. ‘You’re the one who got us out, remember?’

*

Hamid didn’t seek Zolf out, in the galley, even after Sasha left him to his stargazing. He didn’t want to be chasing after him, forcing him to make up his mind – even though Hamid was pretty sure Zolf’s mind was already made up.

They landed in Prague the day after, and Hamid bumped into Zolf on deck. Zolf had been helping the gnome crew unload boxes, his hair and beard tied up and moved away from his face, and he didn’t look surprised to see Hamid. He had a bag with him, though Hamid wasn’t sure what was in it – after losing his scale armour and his trident in the wreck, Zolf owned nothing but his peg-leg and the clothes on his back.

‘You’re off, then?’ Hamid asked. There was something hot and thick in his throat, but Hamid swallowed around it.

Zolf didn’t say anything.

‘I’m sorry. About the shipwreck, and everything.’ Hamid looked out at the bustling airport rather than stare into Zolf’s expressionless face. ‘And, I hope it all goes well. With the harlequins, and everything.

‘I need to do this,’ Zolf said, finally. ‘There are things I need to do.’

Hamid just swallowed again and nodded.

‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘Look after yourself.’

The last time they’d thought they were going to be parted, it had been laced with confessions and a consuming kiss. Hamid didn’t know where they stood, or how Zolf felt anymore. He knew Zolf cared about him – he clearly cared whether he lived or died, after all – but he wasn’t sure if, after everything they’d been through, that Zolf still felt for him in the same way.

‘You know Sasha and I were set up,’ Zolf said, still looking at Hamid, Hamid still avoiding his eyes. ‘There’s a mole in the harlequins. Wilde thinks they’re in Prague.’

‘You spoke to Wilde?’

‘He left me a message.’ Zolf patted his pocket. ‘The usual way.’

‘Ok,’ Hamid said. ‘I hope you find them.’

‘Hamid –‘ Zolf began, and Hamid turned to look at him properly. Zolf seemed to forget what he was about to say – his mouth opened and closed, silently.

‘It’s ok, Zolf,’ Hamid said, sniffing, praying that he could hold the tears in until Zolf had gone.

‘Look after yourself,’ Zolf said, then, finally, and when Hamid turned around next, Zolf was already stumping down the gangplank. Hamid watched until he disappeared into the crowds in the airport, and then he finally let himself cry.

*

‘Zolf actually left?’ Azu asked, astounded, when Hamid re-joined them in their quarters a little later on.

‘He has important work to do,’ Hamid said. ‘For Wilde, and the harlequins.’

‘There is definitely a mole in the harlequins,’ Sasha pointed out. ‘Someone let the security at the bank know our exact plans when we broke in. They were practically waiting for us.’

‘Apparently Wilde thinks they’re in Prague,’ Hamid said.

‘But – he actually left? He left you?’

‘It’s more important than Rome,’ Hamid pointed out. ‘Rome is just… something we’re doing because we don’t really have anything else to do, except run away.’

Azu still looked shocked and betrayed.

‘But… he loves you,’ she said, outraged. ‘He can’t just… leave!’

Hamid spluttered.

‘Very funny,’ he said. ‘Zolf’s… a good friend, but-‘

‘He loves you,’ Azu said, her tone brooking no argument.

‘You two are very close,’ Grizzop added. ‘And after Dover, we thought you’d sorted yourselves out!’

‘Well, clearly he doesn’t anymore, if he ever did,’ Hamid snapped, feeling nettled. He and Zolf, since clearing up the small misunderstanding from Dover, had never really talked properly about it. But they had always been so busy – locked in a hold, or fighting for their lives in the shipwreck, or driving to Paris. There had been no time. 

And now Zolf had left.

The airship had spent three hours docked at Prague. Hamid had stayed on deck the entire time, telling himself he was interested in the workings of an airship. But he couldn’t lie to himself, not properly. He had waited on deck, hoping against hope that Zolf might change his mind and come back.

They took off promptly, ascending into the cloud line once more, and Zolf hadn’t returned.

Hamid spent most of the rest of the trip avoiding the others.

Captain Earhart called them all together a day before reaching Rome.

‘Getting here has been the easy part,’ she warned, ‘because to get you past the Cult of Mars at the border, we’re going to have to drop you directly in Rome’s environs, and we won’t be able to land there.’

‘Why not?’ Sasha asked.

Tjelvar and Earhart both laughed.

‘Rome is a hellscape,’ Earhart said, ‘I’m not risking the whole crew by taking the Canary down there. No – you’ll have to go down on ropes, or by your own steam.’

‘Ropes are fine,’ Tjelvar said, nodding.

‘And I can’t take you too far in,’ Earhart pointed at him. ‘You’ll have to do some travelling.’

‘Not a problem.’

Hamid felt like maybe they’d bitten off more than they could chew. Azu also looked worried, though both Grizzop and Sasha looked excited.

‘We’re… going in on ropes?’ he asked, his voice squeaking embarrassingly.

‘It’s easy enough once you get the hang of it!’ Earhart said, slapping Hamid on the back. He exchanged a look with Azu.

They had to go ‘dark’ to cross the border without alerting the Cult of Mars. All the lights were turned off and the engine was turned down to a quiet chug, leaving them to mainly glide through the skies using the small sails on the front and back of the airship. Hamid thought briefly of Zolf, and whether he would have enjoyed this slight return to true sailing. But thinking of Zolf hurt, so he distracted himself by worrying about what Rome would be like instead.

Across the border, and the world… changed. They moved from night to brilliant day, as sudden as stepping out of a door. The sun was blisteringly hot, and Earhart immediately made the call to descend.

‘This is it, guys!’ she called. ‘Ropes at the ready!’

Sasha was staring at Hamid, panicked, eyes darting between him and Edward and Tjelvar – and then Hamid looked down and saw his clawed, gnarled hands, and realised the consequences of Rome’s strange magical disturbance. His locket had failed. His full dragonish appearance was on show to the entire airship.

Sasha moved faster than Hamid, which was hardly unusual. She grabbed a cloak out of their bags and tossed it over Hamid’s head – Hamid quickly drew it around his face, like a deep hood, despite the heat of the sun.

‘Thanks,’ he breathed, to Sasha. ‘That was a close one.’

‘You’re going to have to tell Tjelvar and Ed,’ Sasha said, frowning. ‘You can’t hide under that all the time.’

‘Better than no one on the ship sees, though,’ Hamid said. ‘That was quick thinking.’

There were gnomes already setting up the ropes at the gunwale; Hamid was clipped onto his with dread itching up his spine. Luckily the gnome who dealt with Hamid was busy and didn’t pay much attention to his thick cloak and hood. He was hot in under the scorching sun, though not suffering as much as the others apparently were – in fact, the sun felt almost pleasant on his scales, like a hot bath. Sasha looked distinctly uncomfortable, especially since she had refused to take off her leather jacket. Her forehead was already damp with sweat, her hair sticking to her face. Azu, used to the dry heat of Cairo, seemed to be holding up fine for the moment, though there was already sweat beading on her bald head. Grizzop complained with every breath, constantly griping, though it seemed to be mainly directed at himself rather than anyone else. 

Edward, though he looked handsome as ever, looked a little wilted. Tjelvar, rejuvenated apparently by the excitement of a new, fresh archaeological discovery, was full of energy and seemingly unaware of the temperature.

‘You guys have gotta go!’ Earhart yelled. ‘The Canary isn’t meant for temperatures like these!’

‘We’re ready!’ Tjelvar called back, giving both thumbs up. ‘Thanks for the ride!’ And he leapt backwards off the side of the airship, abseiling down his rope with a style and grace Hamid hadn’t expected out of an academic. Edward followed suit, a little less gracefully. Hamid looked at his friends.

‘See you on the ground,’ Sasha said, before flipping off the edge with her own particular athleticism. 

‘Oh Aphrodite, protect me,’ Azu said, before climbing very carefully over the side and gingerly starting to lower herself downwards.

Hamid and Grizzop climbed over together and began the descent.

It was hard-going – Hamid was not particularly good at physical activity and didn’t have the courage to slide the whole way down like Tjelvar and Sasha had. He went slow, and steady, and it all seemed to go to plan.

Until they reached near the ground, and the ropes jerked roughly upwards as the airship’s metal frame groaned in protest above them.

‘We’re too high!’ Grizzop squeaked, as the airship rose suddenly upwards. Hamid looked down at the ground, which seemed to be speeding further and further away. Everyone else had already reached the ground, and they were staring upwards in horror as Hamid and Grizzop shot back up into the sky.

Hamid panicked for a split second, and then his animal hindbrain was overridden by his critical thinking brain and he cast fly on himself.

‘Unclip yourself!’ Hamid called to Grizzop, through the rushing wind in their ears. ‘I’ll fly over!’

Grizzop, showing a level of trust in Hamid that Hamid would no doubt freak out about late, fumbled with his carabiner. Hamid held onto his own rope as the airship continued to gain altitude, and take them with it, whilst trying to fly closer to Grizzop.

‘I’m unclipped!’ Grizzop called back.

Hamid tried – really, _really_ tried – to grasp Grizzop’s hand. But slick with sweat from the heat and the nerves, Grizzop’s smaller hand slipped through Hamid’s gnarled, clawed dragonish hands, and Grizzop… fell.

Hamid screamed and dived down after him, though the scream came out low and throaty and more roar-like than any sound he had ever made before. He wasn’t going to be fast enough. He wasn’t good enough at flying. Grizzop was going to…

And then intense pain blossomed on his shoulders and lower back, accompanied by a noise of ripping flesh. Hamid’s hurried cloak cover spun away on eddying air currents and two large, powerful wings beat once, twice behind him, a tail whipping around to stabilise, and then Grizzop was within reach.

Hamid grabbed Grizzop’s wrist and snapped out his new wings. They caught the air, buoying them upwards, and Grizzop and Hamid’s fall was abruptly stopped.

‘Gods, Hamid!’ Grizzop yelled, as he tried to grab onto Hamid with his other hand. ‘Your…’

‘I know!’ Hamid shouted back, as he angled downwards and tried, as gently as possible, to guide them down to the ground using his strange new tail. It wasn’t graceful – Grizzop was only small, but Hamid’s wings were new and untried, and they made a lopsided, wobbly shape as they glided down to the floor.

Azu and Sasha were running towards them even as they tipped headfirst into the dust of Rome, skidding a little distance along the ground before coming to rest in a dirty, panting heap.

Hamid felt a little dazed. Grizzop had already sprung to his feet, apparently regaining his faculties faster than Hamid despite nearly falling to his death less than thirty seconds ago.

‘We’re ok!’ the goblin called, as the sounds of running feet got closer. Hamid just lay on the ground, trying to get his breath back. His back burnt with pain, tender where his new wings and tail pressed against the rough dirt. He attempted to sit up – the pain burst fresh again, and he groaned out loud.

‘Oh, here,’ Grizzop said, placing his hands on Hamid’s shoulders. ‘I can help.’

Grizzop closed his eyes and prayed to Artemis.

Nothing happened.

Grizzop cracked open an eye.

‘Uh… did anything happen?’

Hamid shook his head.

‘Right. Uh – I’ll try again.’

Azu and Sasha had reached them when Grizzop closed his eyes and tried to reach for Artemis’ divine power once more. Hamid thought he saw Grizzop’s hands light up slightly with the usual silvery glow, but the light faded before anything like healing happened.

‘What – happened?’ Azu gasped, out of breath from sprinting over to them.

‘Cool wings, Hamid,’ Sasha offered.

Hamid smiled weakly. His new appendages twitched slightly, before returning to their rather sad, drooped position. His tail dragged in the dirt, surprisingly heavy and hard to move.

‘My healing isn’t working!’ Grizzop yelled, frustrated, smacking his hands together a few times before putting them back on Hamid’s shoulders. ‘Come on,’ he growled, as he tightened his grip and shut his eyes tightly. Nothing happened again.

‘Let me try?’ Azu asked, warily, as Grizzop threw up his hands and stomped off to kick a nearby ruin.

Hamid just nodded.

Again, try as Azu might, nothing happened. There was maybe the faintest pink glow, but no healing spread from her hands down to Hamid’s sore, weeping back. 

‘Sorry,’ she said, stepping back, looking as though she might cry. ‘I can’t… I can’t feel her. I can’t _feel_ her.’

Sasha patted Azu’s arm awkwardly.

‘We’re in Rome,’ said Tjelvar, as he and Edward finally caught up with the rest of them. ‘Magic and the gods can’t reach here. Whatever the Romans did, the meritocrats made sure that no one would want to come and find out what it was. Um. That’s an interesting look, Hamid.’

Hamid looked down at his brass scales, spread further now. He flapped his wings a little weakly, sending up small dust whirlwinds.

‘Meritocrat ancestor,’ he shrugged. Pain rippled through his back at the motion, and he bit his lip to hold back another groan – he didn’t want to upset Azu even more.

‘Lucky you,’ Edward said, face open and guileless. ‘Otherwise you and Grizzop might have been toast.’

Hamid couldn’t disagree.

‘I don’t think I can… put them away,’ he said, getting carefully to his feet and stretching out his new wings. They were the same metallic shade as his scales, darkening to black at the tips and the talon, each wing longer than he was tall. The tail matched, though the whole length of it was bright, shining brass. He gave a few more experimental flaps – the pain was fading, now, and he had the horrible feeling that scales were spreading around the roots of his wings and tail to repair the damage. Zolf had said that the scales were protecting him. It made sense that they would soothe the hurt of suddenly sprouting extra appendages.

‘It’s a good thing we’re in Rome, now,’ Sasha said, eyeing Hamid’s wings with interest. ‘It’d be hard to hide those in a busy city.’

‘We should get moving,’ Tjelvar said, his eyes scanning the ruined landscape. ‘I don’t think it’s wise to stay in one place for too long.’

‘Especially if we can’t heal,’ Grizzop added, still sounding incredibly frustrated.

They weren’t walking long before they all – save Hamid – started to feel the effects of the heat. Azu, who had been doing well right up that point, had tripped on a rock after feeling too weary to lift her legs high enough as she walked, and managed to cut her forehead. Grizzop tried yet again to heal, resulting in just more frustration. 

‘We’re all exhausted,’ Tjelvar pointed out magnanimously. ‘We should find somewhere out of the way so we can get out of this heat and have a rest.’

Hamid, tired of dragging his new wings after him, was only too happy to comply. 

‘What is it you’re looking for, exactly?’ he asked Tjelvar, as they wandered around a group of ruins which looked like they had slightly more structural integrity than others.

‘Really, any building that’s intact enough to hold artefacts,’ Tjelvar said, his eyes lighting up again with manic excitement. ‘Hopefully – apart from the destruction – these places should be completely untouched.’

Sasha found the cellar by almost falling into it. It was in relatively good condition, with amphoras still stored inside it. Out of the sun, however, the air became bitterly cold, and there was no way to make a fire. Hamid, much to his consternation, discovered that his scales retained quite a lot of heat, and he gave off warmth like a little oven. It made him very popular when they all settled down to rest, with everyone except Tjelvar and Edward huddled as close to him as they could physically manage. Sasha seemed to be using one of his wings as a blanket.

They were awoken at odd times during their rest – there was no night, as Rome seemed to operate on a different timescale to everywhere else – and there were strange sounds of howling in the distance. Edward, at least, a practical veteran of Rome, didn’t seem too worried.

‘it’s just these strange teleporting dog things,’ he said, when Hamid plucked up the courage to ask about the howling. ‘They’re not too hard to kill – as long as one doesn’t catch you first, you’re all good.’

It didn’t sound good at all to Hamid, but Tjelvar seemed to trust Edward’s experience, and maybe the wolves remembered Edward and his morningstar from his previous visit to Rome, because the howling never grew any closer.

Tjelvar seemed to be having the time of his life and kept picking up off pieces of pottery or detritus on the floor to show everyone. Sasha in particular was very intrigued by all the findings, and after some persuasion Tjelvar let her keep some of the old currency he’d gathered. She put it in her bag, mouthing ‘for Brock,’ at Hamid.

They walked for what felt like days, though Hamid honestly couldn’t tell how long. Time seemed to stop in Rome, with no way to tell whether it was night or day. Hamid himself was doing much better than the others – the heat barely affected him, and not only were the others unable to cope in either the heat or the cold, but their magic wasn’t working properly. Sasha seemed to be suffering the most, so Hamid risked an endure elements spell on her. To everyone’s great surprise, it worked without a hitch.

‘Try something else,’ Grizzop suggested. Hamid thought about casting fly, but then remembered that the new wings on his back made that a little redundant. So, he made himself invisible. Judging by everyone’s gasps, it had worked.

‘So, at least one of us isn’t completely useless,’ Grizzop said, cheerily.

Sasha frowned down at Grizzop. ‘Speak for yourself. I’m plenty useful,’ she said, flicking knives out of her wrist sheathes.

‘Well, I can’t heal anyone,’ Hamid admitted. 

‘It’s better than nothing,’ Azu said, calmly, putting a large hand on Sasha’s forearm. Sasha grumbled but retracted her knives.

They walked on further – they walked until they had to take shelter, when someone was on the verge of collapse. Before long, not even Tjelvar’s excitement and enthusiasm could keep him going for any longer and they all had to rest for a long time in another cellar that still had most of its structural integrity.

‘We’re getting into the main part of the city, now,’ Tjelvar said, eyes wide and feverish, the manic light still shining in them. ‘We’re nearly there.’

‘What are you looking for?’ Hamid asked, again, because he had thought Tjelvar had just been going to Rome to look for general things. But Tjelvar had been guiding the group through the erstwhile streets and buildings and had produced a thin, ancient-looking map from out of his bag, and seemed to have a destination in mind. But Tjelvar had fallen asleep – or, more accurately, passed out – before Hamid had even finished asking the question.

The answer came to light the next ‘day’, anyway, when Azu accidentally found the secret network of underground tunnels by falling into them, Sasha-style. She was fine, though a little shaken, but Tjelvar was almost beside himself with excitement.

‘This is it!’ he rasped through a dry throat – their water levels were already running low. 

Hamid had found he wasn’t nearly as thirsty as the others, but Azu always handed him the water skin and watched him closely, so he pretended to drink while taking as little water on as possible to make sure everyone else got what they needed.

‘This is what?’ Grizzop asked, unimpressed. Sasha, shivering in the dark tunnels, huddled closer to Hamid’s warmth.

‘This is the lower level on the map – here,’ Tjelvar said, brandishing it at them.

‘Where did you get that map?’ Hamid asked. ‘What are you looking for, Tjelvar?’

Tjelvar looked a little shamefaced.

‘I didn’t lie,’ he said, which to be honest did not do much to assuage Hamid’s fears. ‘I really do want to explore Rome for historical interest. Only – Wilde said he would fund my expedition into the Alps if I went to Rome first to find some old scrolls.’

Of course, Wilde was involved. Hamid heaved a great sigh.

‘Why does Wilde want these scrolls?’ Azu asked. She looked a little better from when she had fallen into the tunnels, but her skin still looked pale and wan.

‘I’m… not sure. He said they were city documents,’ Tjelvar shrugged. ‘I was thinking I could explore more of Rome while I was here, but I hadn’t realised just how… strenuous it would be.’

Edward gave an embarrassed cough.

‘It’ll be easier to move around in the cold than in the heat,’ Hamid said, ‘as long as we don’t get too cold.’

‘We should get moving,’ Grizzop said, shifting from foot to foot, looking nervous. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about these tunnels.’

Grizzop’s bad feeling turned out to be a surprisingly accurate premonition; Tjelvar turned a corner only to stop abruptly, causing Ed to slam into his back and Azu to slam into Ed’s in a rather comedic pile-up. Tjelvar turned around and held a finger up to his lips – Hamid dropped his dancing lights and they waited in the dark.

There was the faint sound of footsteps growing steadily further away. When they were no longer in hearing range, Hamid cast dancing lights once more.

‘Two figures in cloaks,’ Tjelvar whispered to the group.

‘Cultists?’ Azu whispered back.

‘Probably. We might want to be a bit stealthier from now on.’

‘Should we follow them?’ Grizzop asked. ‘They’re probably guarding the important stuff.’

‘Good point.’ 

They continued, now with a greater attempt to be stealthy, until the tunnels began to look, if not cleaner, at least more well-used. There were even candles left lit in some of them, flickering paltry light onto the stone walls.

They managed to avoid bumping into any more cultists around blind corners by sending Hamid ahead and invisible, and slowly they made their way to what felt like the epicentre of the tunnels – or at least seemed to be the central chamber, according to Tjelvar’s map. They came across a heavy door, though Sasha made quick work of the lock, and it swung open to reveal a huge amphitheatre with a cavernous ceiling. They came out onto a small balcony that ran around the outside of the huge cavern. There were chains hanging down from the ceiling, reaching all the way to the floor and pooling there, shining in the dim lights as though still brand new. Some of the chains were broken, jagged and rent as though they had been ripped apart.

‘Adamantine,’ Hamid whispered, staring up at them. There was something about the chains that made him shiver.

‘There should be an office-type room near here,’ Tjelvar said thoughtfully, reorienting his map.

‘What _is_ this place?’ Azu asked, staring at the chains and the huge, empty cavern.

‘I don’t like it,’ Sasha muttered.

‘What would they need this for?’ Grizzop asked, ever practical. ‘And why are the cultists guarding it? Looks like a whole load of nothing to me.’

‘Sasha? Could you… you know… this door?’ Tjelvar had moved further along the balcony and was gesturing to a locked door; Sasha oiled over in her usual stealthy fashion, and with two quiet clicks the door swung open.

‘This is it,’ Tjelvar breathed, as he stared into the room beyond. Behind him, Ed hefted his morningstar, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Hamid peeked around the door to see a few desks in almost pristine condition, quills and long since dried-up ink wells resting on piles of parchment covered in small, detailed writing. The desks looked messy, and there were papers scattered across the floor.

‘Looks like they left in a hurry, whoever they were,’ Hamid mused. 

‘I’ll guard the door,’ Ed said, looking even more wary. ‘I don’t like it down here much, Tjelvar.’

‘I won’t be long,’ Tjelvar said absently, as he examined the many pigeonholes in the walls packed to the brim with scrolls. His eyes were bright with excitement. ‘Wilde said to look for official documents with the Jupiter seal on them. I just need to find…’ He tailed off, distracted by the wall of scrolls.

They waited in silence. Hamid had a rummage around of his own but found that most of the scrolls were written in Latin and were incomprehensible. His wings and tail, large and ungainly in such a small space, knocked a ceramic ink pot off a desk with a loud crash, and he winced. He did, however, find some scrolls with numbers and calculations – accounts and figures, something his university degree came in handy for. From what he could tell, it seemed to be large amounts of expenditures and not much income. What kind of large expenditures would there be for a huge, cavernous amphitheatre?

A strange clicking sound beside him made him jump, but it turned out to be Sasha’s teeth chattering. He recast endure elements on her and her whole body relaxed in relief.

‘Thanks, Hamid,’ she said, just as Tjelvar let out a quiet exclamation.

‘I think I’ve found them! They’re… uh… oh.’ He fell quiet as he read the scroll he was holding. His face went pale.

‘What do they say?’ Hamid asked, unbearably intrigued.

‘The meritocrats…’ Tjelvar began, but his voice cracked as though the words got stuck in his throat. ‘It’s…’

‘It’s all in Latin,’ Sasha observed, appearing suddenly behind Tjelvar and peering at the scroll in his hands. Tjelvar, to his credit, didn’t jump too high in surprise.

‘It’s talking about… about the meritocrats,’ he said, slowly, as his eyes scanned the scroll. ‘But they’re called _dracones_.’

Hamid flinched at the Latin spoken out loud – a remnant of his basic wizard training.

‘Dragons? Normal dragons?’

‘Six of them. Kept chained. Some… um, juvenile.’

Hamid’s brain momentarily froze. 

‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

‘Well, that’s what it says,’ Tjelvar snapped. 

‘I’m sure you are,’ Azu placated. ‘But – the meritocrats are just normal dragons? Kept _chained_?’

‘The harlequins are right,’ Sasha said, quietly. ‘Brock’s right.’

‘What happened, then?’ Hamid asked. ‘If the Romans had them captured, how did they end up as the meritocrats?’

Tjelvar, rapidly scanning the scrolls, shrugged.

‘If those have the seal of Jupiter, and Mars are now guarding the place,’ Azu said, thoughtfully, ‘maybe the cult of Mars helped them escape, somehow?’

‘And they destroyed Rome, and took control of the rest of civilisation,’ Grizzop said, ‘so that they wouldn’t get caged again.’

‘So, they’ve been lying to us for over a thousand years.’ Tjelvar was gripping the scrolls with white knuckles, his face still pale. ‘They’ve been halting our development to stop us from getting too powerful.’

‘That explains why they keep the powerful artefacts locked up,’ Azu added. ‘We aren’t allowed to use the heart of Aphrodite without permission from Apophis, even though she’s our god. I always assumed that the gods gave the meritocrats the power to do that, but if they were just dragons…’

‘And young dragons, too,’ Hamid said. His brain had gone from frozen to spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and he could barely keep up with his own thoughts. He wouldn’t be surprised if steam started coming out of his ears. ‘They grew up. They aren’t universals. They’re just… mortal, the same as any race or creature.’

‘If they’re just natural magic creatures, there’s nothing stopping you from having all the same power as them,’ Grizzop said, staring at Hamid with dawning realisation in his eyes. ‘You could have inherited Apophis’ magic.’

‘That’s why they want me dead.’ Hamid sank down onto a nearby chair. ‘I’m direct proof that their power isn’t any more divine than anything we could have.’

‘And they can be born, and die,’ Grizzop added. The words fell heavy like lead into the quiet. They all stared at each other. 

‘We need to get these to Wilde,’ Tjelvar said, just as Ed poked his head into the room.

‘Um, I think they’ve found us,’ he said.

Tjelvar began to shove scrolls into his bag in panic, as Sasha and Azu ran to the door.

‘We should probably run,’ Azu said, eyes wide.

‘That’s a lot of cultists!’ Sasha added, as Hamid joined them at the door and peered between them. Across the cavern, on the opposing side of the catwalk, over a dozen cloaked figures were pouring out from an open door. 

Hamid judged the distance. It was too far for a fireball, but the power inside him was roaring up into an inferno, licking up from his chest and into his throat. He wanted to cast it – the urge was so strong that he didn’t know if he could stop himself.

Tjelvar finished grabbing the scrolls and hurried to the door, bundling them all out. 

‘We need somewhere to hide!’ Grizzop said. ‘We can’t fight them – there’s too many, and we can’t heal!’

‘I know where we can go. This way!’ Tjelvar called, starting to sprint back the way they’d come.

Hamid was still staring at the massing cultists, fire searing his throat. He wanted – no, _needed_ \- to get it out.

‘Hamid, come on!’ said a voice. It sounded very distant, muffled by the roaring in his ears. A large hand wrapped around his upper arm and tugged, and the fire inside him rose up and streamed out from his mouth, unbidden.

Hamid screamed as the fire poured out, though his scream was low and roar-like, just as it had been when his wings and tail had burst from him. But the fire, unusually, didn’t spread out and dissipate – instead it gathered into a small sphere, shrinking down to the size of a ball-bearing, white-hot and crackling. It rolled to the floor and lay on the ground, pulsing gently.

‘What…’ Azu started to ask, but Hamid had managed to regain his faculties and was very aware of the cultists running towards them.

‘Come on!’ he yelled, tugging Azu along behind him.

They reached the others at the door to the cavern just as the first cultists reached the small bead of fire Hamid had vomited up.

‘Shut the door!’ Hamid yelled, shoving Azu through with as much strength as his small body would allow. Something sharp and hot wrenched in his chest as Ed reached around them both to slam the door shut, and just before it closed they saw a large blossom of fire engulfing the cultists.

‘What was _that_?’ Sasha asked, mouth open.

‘I think that was a delayed fireball,’ Hamid gasped, his chest feeling red-hot and sore. ‘I didn’t know I could do that.’

‘We need to get to a more defensible position,’ Grizzop said, his bow already drawn.

‘This way!’ Tjelvar called, from where he was already thirty foot up the tunnel. They ran after him, Hamid still being dragged by Azu, his legs feet barely touching the floor.

‘Up here!’

Tjelvar, using his map, guided them through labyrinthine passages at a breakneck sprint. Eventually the tunnels began to slope upwards, and then Tjelvar threw open a door to reveal the blinding sunshine. 

Running outside in the scorching heat was much, much harder than running in the tunnels.

‘Where are we going?’ Grizzop panted, struggling to keep up with the much taller party.

‘Somewhere we can hide!’ Tjelvar yelled back, as they ran.

Hamid chanced a look behind him – dark-cloaked figures were already pouring from the door they’d emerged from, a metal door set into a crumbling building façade – and they were pulling out bows. 

Shouts from beside them dragged his attention away from behind, and then there were arrows flying through the air towards them.

‘To our left!’ Grizzop shouted, drawing his own bow and firing back even as he ran.

Hamid hurriedly cast mage armour and watched as a few arrows crumpled when they struck him, falling harmless and broken to the floor. Some pinged off Azu and Ed’s armour almost comically, and Sasha avoided them by being her usual nimble self. Up in the front, Tjelvar was not so lucky – he yelled and staggered to the side as an arrow sunk home into the soft meat of his shoulder, and he almost tripped as his momentum carried him forwards. Ed only just managed to grab the back of his shirt in time and pull him upright once more.

A group of cultists jumped from their right side, swords flashing. Azu and Sasha took them down before they were overwhelmed, but even with every magic missile Hamid could fire out, when the last cultists fell both Azu and Sasha were bleeding from multiple hits and swaying from exhaustion.

‘S’the heat,’ Sasha slurred, staggering. Azu rushed to her side.

‘No time to stop!’ Grizzop called, firing volley after volley at the cultists behind them, though they were almost out of range. ‘We can’t heal, remember? We just need to run!’

‘This way!’ Tjelvar yelled again, as he yanked the arrow out of his shoulder with a curse.

Hamid wasn’t sure that running would be much better than standing and fighting – the heat was killing them off just as surely as cultist blades, and they had nowhere to run to but more Rome. But he followed the others, hoping that Tjelvar knew what he was doing.

He led them through two huge, ornate double doors into a large, still mostly standing building, that stood out from the rest of the ruins by looking almost untouched. Inside it looked worse, since there was no roof to speak of, but there was a large marble staircase.

‘Up here!’

They followed Tjelvar up the stairs, Azu and Ed shutting the large doors behind them.

At the top of the stairs, Tjelvar skidded to a halt. He stared down at his map, then at the marble landing. The landing that led to empty air, the whole of the first floor of the building lying in ruins on the ground below.

‘But… this isn’t right,’ he said, shaking the map. ‘It – it should be here. It says it should be _here_.’

‘Maybe Wilde gave you an outdated map,’ Hamid said, as he gasped for breath.

‘We need to get down from here and find somewhere else to hide,’ Grizzop said, but even as he spoke, the doors smashed open and cultists began to flood in.

Tjelvar looked between them all, eyes wide and manic, blood leaking through his fingers where he pressed his hand to his shoulder wound. 

They were surrounded, and they had nowhere else to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed Rome a little from canon to better fit with my plans, so gods can't be contacted at all. Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Thank you to all who commented, and kudos'd - I'm so glad that other people enjoyed this fic which was written just as a self-indulgent nano.

‘Ok, I admit that this may have been a mistake,’ Tjelvar said, as they all crowded onto the tiny, unbroken platform at the top of the marble stairs – the only part of the first-floor level left in the palace. ‘The map shows Nero’s Palace as being mostly untouched!’

Grizzop, somewhere behind Azu, snorted. 

‘Looks like Wilde’s map was wrong,’ he said acidly.

Edward was still desperately trying to pray to Apollo – all of them were bloodied, and Sasha was only able to keep upright with Azu’s help – but the gods were silent. Rome was a wasteland, full of only dangerous, mutated animals and the Cult of Mars.

And the Cult of Mars were chasing them down, because of the scrolls Tjelvar had stuffed into his bag. The find of the century. The find of the _millennium_. 

There were dark-robed figures already gathering at the base of the stairs, weapons ready in their hands. 

‘We’ve got to get these to Wilde,’ Tjelvar said, clutching his bag. ‘We have to-‘ 

He gasped and fell to one knee, clutching his shoulder over the wound where the arrow had pierced, the pain finally overwhelming him. Edward was by his side in an instant, but no golden light came from his hands, no matter how hard he pressed them to Tjelvar’s wound.

Hamid reached into his pocket, feeling the outline of the mobile stone. 

‘We need more time,’ he said, to himself.

‘What?’ Grizzop squawked at him.

‘More time,’ Hamid said, again, and he brought up his hand.

The world froze at his thought – his friends and enemies alike. Hamid moved cautiously, taking out the mobile stone and holding it close to his mouth, though nothing else moved. 

‘Aziza,’ he whispered. The stone lit up.

‘Hamid? Where are you?’ Saira sounded distraught. ‘Wilde said-‘

‘Saira, you need to tell Wilde that we are in Nero’s palace,’ Hamid said, quickly. He could feel the threads of the world tugging at him, the cogs desperate to click back into motion. He could only hold them still for so long. ‘Nero’s palace, first floor landing. Hurry!’

Time wrenched itself out of his hands just as he put the stone back into his pocket, and Grizzop was still shouting at him.

‘What did you do?’ 

‘Called for help,’ Hamid said. ‘Now we just need to delay.’

‘Easier said than done.’ Azu was breathing hard, her own wounds weeping blood even as she helped up Sasha’s limp body. Sasha was conscious, but only just.

‘Get down,’ Hamid said, before cupping his hands together and breathing into the centre of them. A small orange bead formed, buzzing like lightning. This way felt a lot more dignified than just vomiting it up. ‘This should keep them busy,’ he said, before flicking out his clawed hand and sending the bead shooting down to the base of the stairs. It rested there, crackling, as the robed figures approached them. They moved slower, now that they knew their prey couldn’t escape. They knew they had all the time in the world.

‘Hamid...’ Edward said, worriedly, watching them approach.

‘Wait…’ Hamid held up a hand, one claw in the air. The first of the cultists stepped onto the marble staircase, the others not far behind. ‘Now,’ Hamid said, bringing his hand down. 

The delayed fireball crackled outwards in a twenty-foot bloom of fire, engulfing most of the cultists. When the glare faded from Hamid’s eyes, there were half a dozen cloaked bodies on the floor, burning – more were retreating, their robes still smouldering.

‘Brutal,’ Grizzop said, though he had a wide grin.

‘They’re leaving,’ Azu said, excitedly, as the survivors of the fireball began to retreat to the ruined exits of the palace. ‘They’re going!’

But Hamid had frozen this time, rather than the world. He could hear a sound in the distance, getting louder and louder every second. A sound he had recently become very familiar with. The sound of wings beating into the wind.

‘There’s a meritocrat coming,’ he breathed.

Around him, everyone’s faces drained of colour and any triumph they’d managed to feel.

‘A meritocrat,’ Tjelvar whispered.

The sound of wings grew closer, and then the roar sounded. It shook the very foundations of the palace – Hamid could almost imagine the original destruction of the palace back in ancient Rome, with the recently freed, angry dragons tearing apart their captors’ worlds.

The remnants of the cult were truly fleeing now, vanishing out of the ruins of the palace with both magical haste and haste borne from pure biological adrenaline. 

The wing beats grew closer, and a smudge became clear on the horizon, through the open ceiling. The figure flying towards them was a shining brass against Rome’s sky.

‘Oh gods,’ someone whispered behind Hamid. But around him, as tired and bloodied as they were, his friends were rallying; Sasha had pushed herself off of Azu’s arm and pulled two daggers from her clothes, Edward had raised his morningstar, Grizzop and Tjelvar had nocked their bows. Azu moved in front of Hamid, as though trying to shield him from the meritocrat’s view.

Hamid felt a rush of affection for them all – even here, facing down one of the most powerful beings in the world, unable to reach their gods, his friends were still determined to protect him.

It was Apophis, coming for him or coming for the scrolls they’d found in the tunnels beneath Rome, it didn’t matter. Even just as dragons, meritocrats still had the power to level cities, to wipe out civilisations. Their small, tattered party stood no chance.

Except Hamid had meritocrat blood in his veins, and he knew what was on the scrolls now tucked into Tjelvar’s bag. Apophis was mortal. Apophis could be killed.

Apophis was growing larger as he flew closer; Hamid knew they didn’t have long, and he didn’t want the meritocrat anywhere near his friends.

‘Take this,’ he said, pressing the mobile stone into Azu’s hands. ‘I’ve called for help – my sister might answer.’

‘Hamid…’

Hamid smiled as reassuringly as he could.

‘It’ll be ok,’ he said, and then with two large beats of his wings he was up through the ruined ceiling of Nero’s palace and into the air.

Sounds fell away to be replaced by the sounds of the rushing wind and the haunting roar of Apophis as he drew closer. Hamid wobbled a little, his new wings learning how to coast on the air currents, his tail learning how to steer. He gave a few little experimental flaps, regained his balance, and then began to fly up and towards the meritocrat despite everything in his body screaming at him to fly in the opposite direction.

They met much sooner than Hamid had been prepared for; Apophis, much larger than Hamid, banked sharply before they collided and swooped in lazy circles around him, an eagle around a fly.

_You’re as brave as you are stupid_ , Apophis said, directly into Hamid’s head, his voice resonant and lead-heavy. Hamid winced, but shook off the weight.

‘You’ve come to kill me,’ Hamid shouted. ‘Why?’

_You know why_ , Apophis said, sounding amused. _You should not have come here_.

‘The harlequins have always been right about you!’ Hamid screamed back. ‘You’re not divine rulers! You’re just ordinary creatures! The world’s slave-drivers!’

Apophis roared; the sound chilled Hamid to the bone even under Rome’s scorching sun, but he gritted his teeth and held his ground.

_Romans were the slave-drivers!_ Apophis bellowed into Hamid’s head. _They kept us chained in the dark! They deserved their end!_

‘But the people now don’t deserve to be subjugated beneath you!’ Hamid cried. ‘We’ve done nothing!’

_You would capture and control us if you had the chance, just as the romans did!_

‘You’re wrong,’ Hamid said, quietly, his voice whipped away by the wind. 

Apophis roared again, and this time fire poured from his gaping maw. Hamid flinched back, but when the inferno hit him it washed over his scales like warm water. The roiling stream of fire dissipated, and Hamid was untouched. His clothes burnt, the locket melting and dripping from him as molten metal, but the scales beneath were undamaged.

‘I’m of your blood,’ Hamid said. ‘You can’t hurt me with fire, because I have it too.’

Apophis roared once more, though it sounded more frustrated than before. His huge, snake-like head swung to and fro as he hovered in place, his wings beating up and down in an almost hypnotic rhythm. 

*

Far beneath them, on the ground, Tjelvar was staring up at the meritocrat and wondering how his academic goals had led him to this dangerous situation.

‘Hamid!’ Sasha screamed up at the sky, louder than Tjelvar had ever heard her speak. But Hamid was a mere dot in the sky, tiny next to the immense bulk of the meritocrat.

Tjelvar could feel his heart trying to beat out of his chest.

‘What do we do?’ Eddie asked him, eyes wide, face streaked with dirt and sweat and blood, and no less handsome for it. ‘Tjelvar, what do we _do_?’

Tjelvar shrugged.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, hysteria making him laugh. ‘I… I don’t know, Eddie.’

Eddie took his hand and clutched it tightly. 

They all stared up at the confrontation above them, and so when the voice crackled out of the mobile stone in Azu’s hands it made them all jump.

‘Hello?’ said the voice, thickly accented and distorted through the magical object. ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

‘Hello?’ Azu lifted the stone to her mouth. ‘HELLO?’ she shouted.

‘Alright, alright, no need to shout,’ the voice crackled back. ‘Is it safe?’

Azu looked up, and then around at the others. Sasha shrugged.

‘Yes?’ Azu hazarded.

‘Great!’ the voice said, and then there was a pop, and a man with a mop of crazy grey hair and a manic look in his eyes appeared in their midst.

‘Hello!’ he said. 

‘Einstein?’ Sasha asked, her mouth open in surprise.

‘Ah, Sasha!’ Einstein said, looking happy to see her. ‘Glad to see you are still alive!’

‘What are you _doing_ here?’ 

‘I’m here to get you all out!’ Einstein said. They all looked at each other, then up at the sky.

‘Take the scrolls,’ Grizzop said. 

‘Take Tjelvar – he’s hurt,’ Ed said, just as Azu said ‘Sasha, you go – you need healing.’

‘I’m not leaving without Hamid,’ Sasha said, crossing her arms, just as Tjelvar tightened his grip on Ed’s hand.

‘You’re coming with me,’ Tjelvar said to Edward. ‘I got you into this mess.’

Edward looked up at the meritocrat, then at his morningstar.

‘But-‘

‘You can’t take on a meritocrat with a normal weapon, Eddie. He’ll roast you to death.’

As if to prove Tjelvar’s point, the meritocrat above them let loose a huge plume of fire. Azu cried out, though when the fire cleared the small smudge that was Hamid’s form looked the same as ever.

Eddie looked back at his morningstar.

‘You two. Ok!’ Einstein said, reaching up to Tjelvar and Edward’s shoulders and clapping his hands down on them. There was a pop, a disorientating jerk, and Tjelvar staggered into Edward only to find himself in an expensively furnished living room. A small halfling woman with a passing resemblance to Hamid jumped up to her feet at their arrival, but sagged back down when she saw who they were.

Wilde, who had been perched on the edge of an armchair, also jumped up when they appeared; he walked towards them with purpose. Tjelvar immediately shoved his bag at him.

‘We’ve got them,’ he gasped, as Wilde took the bag to his chest with a small gasp. ‘We’ve got the scrolls. Everything – it’s in there.’

His shoulder was burning with pain – Tjelvar almost collapsed once Wilde had his bag, had Eddie not been there to catch him. Ed frowned, and his hands glowed golden and warm, and the open wound on Tjelvar’s shoulder started to knit itself together.

‘Thank the gods,’ Tjelvar sighed.

‘Where are the others?’ called an angry, west country accent. Tjelvar turned to see Zolf storm in, eyes blazing, armoured up now and holding tightly onto a glaive. The end of the glaive was on fire.

‘Still there – I’m going back,’ Einstein said.

‘Hamid – fighting Apophis,’ Tjelvar managed, getting his feet back underneath him as he leant heavily on Eddie.

‘He… _what_?’ 

Zolf and Wilde were staring at Tjelvar, mouths open. The halfling woman let out an anguished cry from where she was slumped on the sofa.

Zolf turned to Einstein, face stony.

‘Take me there,’ he said, firmly.

‘Magic works strangely in Rome,’ Tjelvar pointed out. 

‘Apollo doesn’t talk to me there,’ Eddie added, in a surprisingly useful addition. 

Zolf just rolled up his sleeves.

‘I don’t need Poseidon to listen to me,’ he said, face stormy. ‘Just one idiot halfling.’

Einstein shrugged, and put his hand on Zolf’s shoulder, and they both vanished with a pop.

‘I better get these to the appropriate sources,’ Wilde said, hoisting up Tjelvar’s bag. ‘Good job,’ he added, before he strode quickly from the room.

There was quiet, then, broken only by the gentle sobbing of the halfling woman.

*

The second time Apophis tried to incinerate Hamid, Hamid was ready for it. The heat from the flames washed gently over his scales, warming them, licking along his limbs and kindling something inside him.

‘You’re just making me stronger!’ he taunted. ‘Face it, Apophis – you can’t kill me, because your blood runs in my veins! Everything that makes you special I have too!’

Hamid knew that if it had been any other meritocrat that he wouldn’t still be alive to taunt. But from the anger and frustration building in Apophis’ roar, it sounded like the others had sent Apophis to clean up his own mess. He darted forwards when Apophis drew closer, raking his claws over Apophis’ huge face. To Hamid’s great surprise, he drew blood, and Apophis screamed his displeasure into the sky.

_You’re nothing!_ Apophis screamed in Hamid’s head, the strength of his voice like a stabbing pain. More fire spewed from Apophis’ maw, though his head tossed from side to side in rage. Hamid chanced a look down – using his suddenly surprisingly good eyesight he could see his friends still clustered at the top of the marble staircase, though there were now markedly less of them. Hamid laughed.

‘You’re too late,’ he spat at Apophis. ‘They’ve taken the scrolls to the harlequins. They’re long gone – you’ve _lost_.’

Apophis roared more curling ropes of fire into the sky, and then snarled at Hamid.

_No. You have_ , he said. Then he tucked his wings close and dived straight down.

It took Hamid around half a second to realise what Apophis was doing. Then he dived down after the meritocrat, beating his wings hard to catch up. As he plummeted down, right at Apophis’ tail, he could feel his body shifting – his wings grew larger with every beat, his arms and claws were stretching and lengthening, his chest expanding, horns bursting from his scalp. As he fell, Hamid screamed.

He could see Apophis’ core glowing as he took in breath, about to spew fire into Nero’s palace and incinerate Hamid’s friends. Hamid stretched a little further, desperate, and slammed his new bulk into Apophis’ side as just as the meritocrat was about to exhale.

They both tumbled into the ruins, impacting hard with their shared momentum. Hamid leapt to all fours instantly, shaking off the strange dissonance of suddenly being much larger than he was used to. He was still much smaller than Apophis, but as he moved between the small people on the stairs and the meritocrat, he was surprised to find he was now several feet taller than even the tallest of the people.

Then he shook his head, waving it from side to side, reptilian. Why was he confused about his size? This was a good size for a young dragon. This was the size he should always have been. He could feel the fire molten in his chest – could feel the power roaring to be free. Apophis may have been distant family, but he was threatening something of Hamid’s. Something important. He stared down at the small cluster of figures, so fragile amongst the ruins. Hamid felt, suddenly, that they needed to be protected.

Apophis also regained his footing and turned to snarl at Hamid, dragging Hamid’s attention away from his new charges. Apophis breathed in and let out another plume of fire, but Hamid curled his wings around the small people and the fire licked over him harmlessly.

_Leave_ , Hamid growled.

Apophis snorted, but stepped back. The deep gashes over his face were still dripping blood, the drops of which steamed and bubbled as they hit the ground, melting the marble. If Hamid didn’t know better, he’d have said that Apophis looked… scared.

Apophis raised his mighty wings, and with one great stroke downwards he leapt into the sky. Hamid snarled after him as he flew away, triumph boiling his blood.

Movement beneath him dragged his attention down, and he uncurled his wings to let the small ones free. They stared up at him and backed away when he lowered his head to inspect them. He could smell their sweat and fear, and something inside him told Hamid that these small ones were important. Hamid didn’t like that they feared him.

_I don’t mean to hurt you_ , he tried to say, but it came out as a snarl and they didn’t seem to understand.

‘Hamid,’ one of them called up to him, the dwarf with the false leg. ‘Hamid, let it go.’

Hamid didn’t understand – let what go? He snorted out a gout of smoke, confused, and angry that he was confused. He was _powerful_. Why should these tiny creatures confuse him? The goblin, laughably, had a tiny bow trained on Hamid, as though he could possibly hurt a dragon with it.

_What do you mean?_ he tried asking the dwarf, focusing hard, trying to talk into his mind the way Apophis had talked to him. The dwarf’s face creased in pain – he fell to one knee, blood leaking from his nose and ears.

‘You’re hurting him!’ the pink orc cried. The human was staring up at Hamid, still. Her hands were clasped around daggers, held up as if in threat. 

Hamid stumbled back, tripping over his own tail and almost falling over into the dust and wreckage.

_No, no_ , he cried, snarling. _No, I didn’t mean to_. 

‘Hamid,’ the dwarf called, wiping the blood from his face. He staggered to his feet and, after pushing off the others, limped slowly and awkwardly over to Hamid. Hamid drew back – he didn’t want to hurt the dwarf anymore, and if even talking could hurt him, then Hamid was scared to try anything else. He couldn’t remember who they were – he couldn’t remember much with the power burning bright and hot in his chest, billowing up with every breath. 

‘Hamid,’ the dwarf said, gently, reaching out one hand and resting it on a dark, wickedly curved claw. ‘Hamid, _let it go_.’

Hamid roared a pillar of fire into the sky, panic and terror gripping him. The power told him that these tiny creatures were nothing to him. Ants to be crushed or put to work. He shouldn’t be _scared_ of them. 

_It’s Zolf_ , said a small voice in Hamid’s head. _It’s Zolf._

‘I know you’re scared,’ Zolf continued, as though Hamid hadn’t just missed incinerating him by a few feet. ‘I know you think you need to hold on to this power to keep yourself safe. To keep us safe. But you can let it go. We’re all safe now, thanks to you. Let us keep you safe, too.’

Grizzop and Azu had picked their way down the stairs and stood behind Zolf.

‘It’s our job,’ Grizzop nodded. 

‘Please, Hamid,’ Azu said.

Hamid’s large head swung to look at Sasha. Sasha looked down at her daggers, and then dropped both of them. They clattered loudly onto the floor.

‘Come on, Hamid,’ she said. ‘Please.’

Zolf had moved even closer, reaching up to place a hand on the scales stretched across Hamid’s dragonish chest.

Hamid took a deep breath and felt within him that burning core he’d had all his life – the source of his magic, the core that Apophis had unknowingly fed with his own fire. Hamid reached inside that core and saw where it was stretched throughout his whole body, protecting his skin and forcing his shape into one which was stronger, safer.

Hamid took that core and damped it right down to a kindling fire.

The change rippled over him. His scales burned up and shrivelled off, his wings turned to paper and, blackened and curling, floated away into the air. His whole body shrank until he fell to his knees, head in his hands, spent and sobbing.

‘I’ve got you,’ said Zolf’s voice, as arms wrapped around him. ‘I’ve got you.’

*

His clothes had all disintegrated somewhere between the first plume of fire and his change of form, but Hamid was beyond caring and barely noticed when someone threw a coat over him.

‘Come on, up you get,’ Zolf said gently, helping him stand on trembling legs. ‘Einstein, you ready to go again?’

‘Yes?’

‘Right. Let’s go, then. He’ll come back for you,’ Zolf said, over Hamid’s head. Hamid felt hotter than he had before under Rome’s scorching sun, sweating under his borrowed coat, and he just trembled some more. His limbs felt like jelly – like he’d run for miles and only just stopped to take a breath.

‘That’s ok,’ said Azu’s voice, deep and calm and wonderfully familiar. ‘We’ll be fine for a bit.’

‘Yeah,’ Sasha said, ‘course.’

‘Take him.’ Grizzop’s voice squeaked.

A hand landed on Hamid’s shoulder, and with a gentle pop there was a strange wrenching sensation over his whole body and the scorching heat of Rome vanished.

‘Hamid!’

‘Saira?’ Hamid managed to say, as he looked up to see his sister launching herself at him from a sofa. She collided with him heavily and they would have lost their balance if Zolf had not been there to catch them.

‘You’re ok, you’re alive,’ Saira sobbed into Hamid’s hair, before drawing back to look at him properly. ‘You’re healed! You’re… you’re naked?’

Hamid looked down at himself and realised properly that he was wearing only a large leather jacket. A familiar leather jacket. Then he looked around and realised he was in his family’s house in Cairo – specifically, in the second-best sitting room. Edward and Tjelvar were slumped together on a sofa, looking drained and wan. Tjelvar’s arm was still crusted with old blood, Ed’s face still streaked with Rome’s dust and his own sweat.

‘We should go get you dressed,’ Saira fussed, smoothing down Hamid’s borrowed lapels.

‘The others?’ Hamid turned to Zolf. Zolf, who still looked a little flushed from Rome’s heat, didn’t look at Hamid directly.

‘Einstein’s going to get them,’ he assured. ‘You… go get dressed.’

Saira was already ushering him out of the room, and Hamid relaxed a little and let her.

All his old clothes were still in his own room. Saira helped him there and then left him to it. There were no well-tailored, understated three-piece suits, and every item seemed incredibly… frilly. Hamid grabbed the least expensive trousers and shirt he could find, bemoaning his rather excessive previous taste. Before he dressed, he stared long and hard at his unblemished skin in his full-length mirror. The scales had vanished – the small nubs of horns and a tail had gone too, and his eyes were back to their normal colour. He looked like himself again.

He remembered that molten core inside him, powered by his own and Apophis’ rage, and even as he stared at his skin brassy scales started to ripple across it, and his eyes turned yellow-orange. He took a breath and relaxed, and they disappeared once more to leave perfect, unblemished skin behind.

Zolf had been right. 

Zolf. The others. Hamid pulled his clothes on quickly and grabbed Sasha’s leather jacket before hurrying, barefoot, back to the second-best sitting room. Azu, Grizzop, and Sasha were standing in the centre, looking around at the opulence of the room with wide eyes. Sasha looked strangely naked without her jacket.

Einstein had collapsed onto the nearby chaise longue rather dramatically.

‘I am tapped out!’ he cried at the ceiling. ‘Do you know how hard it is, to teleport so many people in one day? And to Rome, of all places!’

‘You saved our bacon, professor,’ Sasha said, in an unusually friendly tone. 

‘Um, Sasha,’ Hamid said, coughing to alert the room of his re-emergence, before holding up her jacket.

‘Oh, thanks,’ she said, grabbing it and pulling it on before he could even offer to get it washed.

‘Hamid.’ Zolf was staring at him. He still had dried blood in his hair and beard, from Hamid’s ill-advised attempt to dragon-speak directly into his mind.

‘What?’ He looked down at himself in a panic, in case he’d forgotten to do up his trousers or shirt in his hurry to dress. He couldn’t see anything wrong with his clothes – though the frilly shirt was a bit more low-cut than anything he had worn recently. ‘What?’ he asked again.

‘Your locket.’

Hamid’s hand automatically flew to his throat, where of course his locket no longer rested. He had a sudden flash of memory – of the metal dripping off his chest, flowing down his legs, running off his scales.

‘Apophis melted it,’ Hamid said sadly. He’d have to get another one – a normal one – and replace the portrait of Aziza. He also spared a moment to mourn for his magic sleeves – they’d been through a lot with him.

‘No, I mean – you look…’ Zolf trailed off. 

‘You look well.’ Saira stepped forward, taking up the reins of the conversation. ‘You’re… you’re cured? Did the meritocrat cure you, Hamid?’

‘Oh, no,’ Hamid said, sighing in relief. ‘No, I just – I learnt how to turn it off.’

‘Ha!’ Zolf cheered. ‘I knew you could do it!’

‘How did you?’ Grizzop asked. 

Hamid looked over at Zolf, suddenly feeling shy.

‘Someone taught me how,’ he said. ‘It was protecting me – I was afraid, and hiding myself, and so the power was doing what it thought I wanted. I needed to let go – to trust others to keep me safe – I needed to let it go.’

Zolf smiled, pinkly pleased.

‘I can’t believe you chased a _meritocrat_ away,’ Azu said. Saira, back on the sofa, whimpered quietly.

‘It wasn’t really me,’ Hamid said, embarrassed to have everyone’s eyes on him. Everyone was in the second-best sitting room, still covered with sweat and blood and dust from Rome. He hoped they hadn’t been waiting for him while he’d agonised over what to wear. ‘He knew the scrolls were gone. He’s probably rushing back to Cairo to get started on the damage control.’

Hamid froze.

‘Wait! _We’re_ in Cairo!’

‘No need to worry; he’s gone to Prague,’ said a smooth, polished voice from behind him. Hamid whirled around to see Wilde, who looked slightly more well-rested than he had done in Paris, wearing a triumphant smile.

‘Why Prague?’ Grizzop asked.

‘I assume he’s gone there to help with the riots,’ Wilde said. 

‘What _riots_?’ Grizzop squeaked.

‘You got the scrolls to Curie?’ Einstein asked, sitting up on the sofa. Where Wilde’s smile was slightly restrained, Einstein’s was manic.

Wilde inclined his head.

‘I think things will change from now on,’ he said, delicately. 

‘The truth is out there, then? About the meritocrats?’ Tjelvar asked.

‘The pure and simple truth that they are mortal. Though,’ Wilde said, thoughtfully, ‘the truth is rarely pure, and never simple.’

Zolf heaved a beleaguered sigh.

‘Alright, Wilde, as interesting as your inner monologue is, what do we do now?’ he asked, gesturing around at the room. 

‘I suggest you stay here, for a time,’ Wilde advised. ‘Most harlequins aren’t exactly the Tahan’s biggest fans, but they won’t attack you outright. And the meritocrats, I imagine, will be kept very busy for a while.’

‘So, we’re safe?’ Saira asked, quietly, from where she had been keeping very still on the sofa.

‘As safe as we can be in these times,’ Wilde said. ‘Now, Einstein and I have business to attend to; you are all free to take a little time off. You deserve it.’

With a parting wink, Wilde strolled from the room, followed by the grumbling professor. Hamid looked around at his friends; tired, dirty, and adrift amongst the size and finery of the al Tahan’s second-best sitting room.

To Hamid’s great surprise, it was Saira who pulled herself together first and broke the strange silence; she jumped up from her sofa with a loud clap of her hands. Hamid and Azu both jumped.

‘Right!’ she said, brusquely. ‘I’ve been a poor host so far.’ She strode over to a discreet cord and pulled it. Hamid knew that a bell had just gone off in the servant’s quarters, and sure enough, one of the butlers oiled smoothly into the room. A brief, hushed discussion later, and the butler left as quietly as he arrived. Saira put on what Hamid recognised as her ‘schmoozing’ smile and looked around at the others.

‘You’re all very welcome to choose a room and settle in for the foreseeable future; the servants are setting up the guest bedrooms as we speak. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you around the house.’

‘Thank you,’ Azu said, gravely.

Hamid, deciding that his job was now over, and he could let himself relax, slumped down on a nearby armchair. The others filed out, slowly, following his sister, and Hamid’s eyes were already shutting. Surrounded by the familiar sounds and smells of home, he felt at peace for the first time in a long time.

He woke later, confused and disorientated, not sure how long he’d been asleep. He’d completely lost track of how much time had passed since they’d gone over the border into Rome, and he didn’t even know what time of day they’d arrived back in Cairo. The sitting room was no longer empty – through one cracked eyelid he could see Azu and Grizzop sitting at a side table, ostensibly playing chess, though they both seemed preoccupied by something outside the large window. Sasha was also there, poking around the mantlepiece, examining the various antiques on display.

‘Oh, you’re up,’ Azu commented, as Hamid sat up and rubbed his eyes. ‘How do you feel?’

‘How do _you_ feel?’ Hamid asked. ‘You’re the ones who got hurt.’

‘A healer came from the temple of Aphrodite in town,’ Azu said. ‘My old mentor. They healed everyone up.’

‘Which was great, because we did not have enough to go around,’ Grizzop added.

‘Oh, good. How – how long have I been asleep?’ Hamid looked around the room, but there was only the four of them. Outside the window he could see two small figures climbing a tree with middling success – his younger brothers, carefree and ignorant of the sea change the world was currently going through.

‘It’s nearly dinner – you’ve slept the whole day,’ Azu offered. ‘You didn’t look too comfortable in that armchair, but you were so deeply asleep that we didn’t want to wake you.’

‘Zolf was here, but he had to go and sort out harlequin stuff,’ Sasha added, clearly catching on to why Hamid was scanning the room.

Hamid tried to hide his disappointment.

‘Oh, ok,’ he said, swallowing. ‘To do with the work he was doing in Prague, I guess?’

Sasha just shrugged.

‘I’m sure he’ll be back by dinner,’ Azu said, comfortingly.

The others looked clean and fresh, dressed in new clothes and free of Rome’s dust. Hamid, even though his clothes were fresh, felt grimy and contaminated still, so he unfolded himself from the armchair and went to his rooms to take a bath. 

An hour later, sparkling clean and in newer clothes – frillier than the last, but the least frilly he could dig out of his wardrobes – he returned to the sitting room, only to find his armchair had been taken by Zolf in his absence.

‘Hamid,’ Zolf said.

Hamid just stared at Zolf. He looked tired, though his clothes were a lot nicer than they’d been when they’d parted at Prague. And there was something different about him – something that had been nagging at Hamid since he’d first seen Zolf again in Rome through dragonish eyes.

Hamid took a few steps forward, then faltered.

‘You’re – one braid,’ he stammered. 

Zolf stood; he looked down at his beard, which was now in one long braid rather than two.

‘Uh, yeah,’ he said. ‘It was… easier.’

‘It looks nice,’ Hamid said.

‘Thanks.’

‘Right! I’m starving – I’m going to see when dinner is,’ Grizzop announced, marching out of the room. 

Azu also stood – she looked around for Sasha, but Sasha was already gone. She had slipped silently out of the room at some point after Hamid’s entrance. Azu looked at Hamid and Zolf, opened her mouth, shut it again.

‘I can’t think of an excuse,’ she said, finally. ‘I’m just – going to go.’

‘Subtle,’ Zolf snorted, as the door closed behind her.

‘Um – sorry. About the whole… thing.’ Hamid waved a hand around his face. ‘You got the blood out okay?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Zolf said, ‘nothing to worry about. Just pressure, really.’

‘Oh. Good.’

They stood there in silence for a while.

‘Hamid, I’m sorry Ieft-‘

‘Did you catch the mole?’

They both started and stopped at the same time; Hamid couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him.

‘Um, you go first,’ Hamid said, taking a breath.

‘Hamid – I really am sorry I left in Prague. I just – I was scared. Of Rome. And I knew I could be useful for the harlequins in Prague, and it all just got to be a bit much.’

‘It’s fine, Zolf, honestly. It’s a good thing you did, actually – I assume you’re the reason that Wilde and Einstein were here when I called Saira on the mobile stone?’

‘Oh, yeah – well, me and Wilde,’ Zolf said, shrugging.

‘You saved us from Rome, then.’

‘Well, you saved the others by turning into a big fuck-off dragon.’

‘Apophis only left because we got the scrolls out of there,’ Hamid pointed out. ‘But anyway – I know what happened there. I’m trying not to think about it.’ The thought of facing Apophis now made him want to vomit, but he didn’t really want to admit that. ‘Can you… tell me what happened to you? While you were gone?’

‘Yeah, ok,’ Zolf said.

Sitting together on the sofa in the second-best sitting room, Zolf described his adventures to Hamid over the past fortnight. 

‘We were in Rome for a _fortnight_!’ Hamid screeched, when Zolf revealed that particular piece of juicy information. He was so loud that one of the butlers coughed discreetly from the door and asked him if everything was ok.

‘I’m fine!’ Hamid said, toning down the screech. ‘Sorry, I, uh, didn’t realise. Rome really messes with your head.’

‘How long did you think it was?’

‘I don’t know – couple of days, maybe?’

Zolf gave a low whistle.

‘Woah, yeah. I can see where your problem might be.’

‘So, what were you doing for… for a fortnight?’

It turned out that most of the faculty at the University of Prague were harlequins; one of the professors had gone rogue and terrorised the city, supposedly cursed by an evil Roman book.

‘Course, now we know it was probably the meritocratic forces that cursed Kafka,’ Zolf added. ‘Since he was passing information to them on the sly. He’d been telling them all sorts of harlequin plans – one of them was our bank heist.’

‘So, the meritocratic agents did set you up,’ Hamid said.

‘Yeah. Probably so we didn’t mess with the Other London gangs – they’re all financed by the meritocratic forces on the downlow. Apparently, Brock found out that they were essentially being bankrolled by the meritocrats, the Paris gangs too, and got himself kidnapped.’

‘Was that the business Wilde had in Paris?’ Hamid asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ Zolf said, frowning. ‘He never did explain what that was. Something to do with an ‘ordinateur’, I think. Wilde talks in his sleep,’ Zolf explained.

Hamid frowned.

‘You heard Wilde talking in his sleep?’

‘He fell asleep at his desk! It’s not – I didn’t…’ Zolf’s face was bright red. Hamid giggled again.

‘You’re too easy, sometimes, Zolf.’

Zolf harrumphed, but Hamid could see a smile creeping on his face too. Zolf had a nice smile – Hamid saw it so rarely. Hamid coughed, and looked down at the carpet.

‘Anyway, how did you get from dealing with Kafka in Prague to here?’ he asked.

Zolf’s smile faded a little.

‘Wilde wasn’t too happy when he heard you’d all gone to Rome with Stornsnasson. And when we heard that Apophis had stirred in Cairo and made a public appearance for the first time in over a century, we panicked. We needed a way to get into contact with you, so we could find out where you were and send Einstein in – and I knew you had that stone that linked to your sister’s. So, we came here.’

‘Poor Saira,’ Hamid said. ‘She must have been overwhelmed.’

‘She handled it all pretty well,’ Zolf admitted. ‘Being strong under pressure must run in the family.’

Hamid looked up from the carpet, and the soft look on Zolf’s face hurt his heart.

‘Zolf –‘ he began, but Zolf held up a hand to stop him.

‘Hamid, listen,’ he said, his voice unusually shaky. ‘That time at the docks – when I said I _liked_ you, I… well, I really… what I _really_ meant was-‘

‘It’s okay, Zolf,’ Hamid said, quietly. He reached out and rested a hand on Zolf’s bare forearm. ‘I know what you meant.’

‘And, uh, when you said that you…’

‘I meant it, too.’

Zolf’s green eyes looked a little misty – Hamid could feel that fire in his chest, even banked and smouldering as it was. His heart was beating in his throat. Hamid took a chance, took a breath, and leant in.

The dinner gong went off, startling them into jumping apart. Hamid’s heart was still racing. Zolf opened his mouth to speak, and then Hamid’s stomach, conditioned from childhood to expect food after the sound of the dinner gong, gave off the loudest gurgling rumble he had ever heard.

They stared at each other for a second, and then started to laugh.

‘When was the last time you ate?’ Zolf asked Hamid, not unkindly. Hamid frowned in thought.

‘Not since it all kicked off in Rome,’ he admitted. Everything since had happened very fast, and after getting back to Cairo the huge amount of magic he’d used had, uncharacteristically, tired him out too much to even think about food. Now, though, with the rest of him clean and rested, his empty stomach was finally making itself known.

‘Right, then,’ Zolf said, standing up and offering Hamid a hand. ‘Let’s go eat.’

‘We’ll talk about this later, though, right?’ Hamid asked.

Zolf gave his hand a squeeze.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘We will.’

They stayed hand in hand all the way to the dining room. It was a bit of a walk; the second-best sitting room was near the back of the house, for informal guests and family, and the dining room was right at the front. Hamid let go before reaching the double doors closed. He wasn’t quite ready to explain his romantic life to Saira, especially with the others all present as well. 

‘Later,’ Hamid promised, again, before pushing open the doors.

Everyone was there, even Ed and Tjelvar, though Ed was falling asleep into his soup and Tjelvar was picking distractedly at his bread roll. Sasha already had a clean bowl and was looking around for more.

‘Sorry, we didn’t wait for you to start,’ Saira said, as Hamid slid into the chair next to her.

‘That’s fine,’ he said. The soup was delicious, and only a little cold.

The main course was halfway through when the dining room doors burst open and Wilde strode in. His face was flushed and he looked very dramatic, all but striking a pose in front of the still-swinging double doors.

‘It’s begun,’ he said, his eyes wide and manic. 

‘What happened in Prague?’ Grizzop asked, jumping up from his seat. ‘Is it… is Prague still _there_?’

Hamid shivered at the thought of Prague being reduced to the same blasted heath as Rome.

‘Yes.’ Wilde grinned at all of them – Hamid had never seen such a free, uncultivated expression on his face before. ‘Bolla Smok is dead. Everyone knows – or will know, soon enough. The revolution has begun.’

A hush fell across the table. Beyond Wilde, hovering awkwardly outside the dining room doors, Hamid could see several servants holding the main course.

‘Well? What happens now?’ Zolf asked, frowning at Wilde. ‘What do we do?’

Wilde opened his mouth to speak – and Saira stood, and coughed delicately, and spoke to the room at large.

‘First, we have dinner,’ she said, sternly, waving in the servants and fixing Wilde with a sharp stare. ‘You are welcome to join us, Mr Wilde. The revolution talk can start _after_ the dessert course. Perhaps over the cheeseboard.’

Wilde, uncharacteristically non-plussed, took a seat. The main course was served. Hamid struggled to hold down his laughter. Beside him, Zolf’s eyes were twinkling.

The world was changing. A meritocrat was dead – a sentence practically unthinkable before now. There were trials ahead, for all of them. But right now, Hamid had a delicious dinner in front of him, and he was surrounded by those he loved. 

Saira was right. The revolution could wait until after dinner.


End file.
